Phoenix
by Lady Meda
Summary: Meg and the Phantom both realize that not all was lost in the opera fire four years ago. But can they ever chase away the ghosts of the past? Warning: Contains some very adult themes, mostly due to a few scenes of explicit smut. They are clearly marked, and for the most part can be skipped.
1. Phoenix

**Rating: MA/NC-17**  
**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters, nor do I make money on this fiction.**

**Author's Note: Just a warning for any Phantom of the Opera version purists. This is a slight blend between several different versions of the story, largely the 2004 movie with Gerard Butler and a small amount from Susan Kay's version. The Phantom in this story has traveled to Persia, but did so AFTER the close of the Paris Opera instead of earlier in life.**

**And of course, a huge thanks to Cee for helping me polish my story, and for the positive support.**

* * *

Four long years had passed, and Meg was glad to be home. _Home_. The word echoed through her mind as she looked around the newly designed Opera House. She hadn't realized the extent to which this place was her home until it was gone.

It had been an enormous relief when she'd gotten word that her mother would be given full charge of the dancers. Nearly every girl from the old troop had begged to return; and for very good reason.

Trying to find new employment had been a nightmare. Due to the abrupt close of the Paris Opera House, the market was flooded with dancers looking for work. It became frighteningly common for managers to insist upon sexual favors to earn a spot in their dance troop. Soon, becoming the prima ballerina had little to do with your skill as a dancer, and far more to do with your skill in... other realms. She had found little work.

"I've brought some of your luggage, Miss Giry." A young boy called, tugging one of her trunks into her room. He wore humble clothes that had seen its fair share of days. He had hair not unlike her own: long, golden curls tied back in a tattered ribbon. His eyes widened as he looked up at her; a blush blooming on his cheeks. She gave him a warm smile. He looked to be about the age where women take a sudden, unexpected interest.

"Just over there would be perfect. Thank you" She couldn't help a quiet chuckle. Her trunk was nearly as big as he was, and probably just as heavy.

"I'll have the rest up in no time, Miss!" He bubbled.

"Please, call me Meg."

His blush deepened. With a hasty bow, he was out the door. She chuckled again and began unpacking her trunk. Despite a few changes, being back in this place was like putting on her favorite pair of slippers. Everything just felt right.

And yet her heart was not quite in it. There was only one thing in all her luggage she wanted to see right now. With a cursory glance around the empty room, she reached down to the very bottom of the trunk and pulled out an ornate mahogany box. Fumbling the key from the locket around her neck, she opened it. Inside, settled on a pillow of red satin, was the Phantom's bone-white mask.

It was in this very room that Christine had confided in Meg that her Angel of Music had spoken to her at last. She'd been positively glowing as she conveyed the perfection that was his voice. Ever since that day, Meg had been a bit envious of Christine. She wanted an angel to guide her, to cherish her, to show her the wondrous things that lived within her own soul.

Even when Christine spoke of the horror that lay behind the mask and the terror she'd felt, cowering beneath his rage- Her fear was overshadowed by the recollection of how his words moved her with their ferocity; so filled with passion, she feared they might drive her to madness.

Hearing about his fervor made Meg want to experience it. But when she finally witnessed it played out on stage, she feared her heart was ruined forever. She'd nearly wept with longing to be the woman in those arms. How could any gentleman ever hold a candle to...

_the raging fires that flood the soul_

_..._to HIS soul.

But he was gone. Perished. His charred remains buried in an unmarked grave. She had silently cried herself to sleep the night her mother told her. A part of her still hated Christine for depriving the world of such genius and beauty.

Meg's heart nearly jumped out of her chest as the boy spoke behind her.

"Is t-that-" He stood frozen in the doorway, laden down with her bags. She snapped the box shut and shoved it onto her nightstand.

"My uh... Masquerade adornments."

"Oh." He started, setting down the last of her belongings. "It just looked like, well... like they say HIS mask looked." She tried her hardest to give a lighthearted chuckle.

"I think you just have phantoms on your brain!" She goaded. He suddenly became very fascinated with the ties of his shirt. "Don't worry." She sighed, almost to herself. "You aren't the only one."

"Too true, Miss!" He boasted with renewed enthusiasm, mistaking her comment as encouragement. "Everyone's talking about what happened. Miss Meg, is it true you were here when it happened? The night of the accident? Did you really venture below?" He blurted, gazing on her with admiring eyes like she were Joan of Arc.

"Yes." She laughed.

"Oh please Miss Meg, tell me what happened!" He burst out excitedly. "I mean what _really _happened. What was it like down there in his lair? I've heard so many rumors, but they are always a bit-" He must have noticed the change in her mood, stopping mid-sentence. When she glanced at him, his face had fallen.

"Beg pardon, Miss. I meant no offense." The disheartened look in his eyes made her heart ache. He did his best to mask it with a cheerful smile. "Well if you need anything... anything at all, just ask for Eugène. That 's me." With a bow, he turned to leave.

"Eugène!" She called after him. "There IS one more favor I would ask of you." He looked back at her, the hopeful sparkle returning to his eyes as she asked him: "Walk with me?"

* * *

Deep below the opera house, a dark shadow stumbled through the inky blackness.

It did not go unnoticed. The Phantom silently cursed, watching as if by sheer stupid luck, the cloaked man bumbled through the labyrinth of ruins towards his new home. Unfortunately for his roving friend, not _all_ luck was good. He'd hoped the terrible legend of the Opera Ghost would have bought him more time before anyone dared venture into the underground.

Anger welled up. He had given the Persian orders to stress the perilous state of the opera's depths to the staff. Obviously his new manager had been remiss. Despite having control of the management, people could not disappear left and right before the opera was even open. Rumors would run rampant. People would flee in terror. It would mean certain death for his beloved music house.

On cat's paws, he crept up behind to get a better look at this intruder. The meek illumination afforded by the man's single candle silhouetted a small frame. The candlestick was held aloft by a thick stage-hand's glove that was obviously too large. He couldn't believe his eyes. This was only a young boy! He was probably no more than 11.

He could not allow this lad to stumble upon his home and carry word back to the surface of what he found: and the boy was nearing dangerously close to the false rock face. He prayed that it would confound him and he would return to the opera house, curiosity sated. The Phantom was no stranger to murder; but to kill a child? The idea weighed heavily, even on HIS conscience.

_No._ He thought. _Deep down, I am a monster. Christine showed me how true that is. And monsters don't have the luxury of a conscience. _

But as the boy studied the wall intently in the flickering candlelight, he knew he would have to let the child seal his own demise; down here in the desolate blackness where no one deserves to meet their end.

_Well, **almost** no one. _

The ghost's stomach lurched as the boy's fingers found the ill-concealed button- the last line of defense around his home.

Gears ground into life. Pulleys began to spin. The noose flew, tightening like an anaconda around its prey before ascending into the darkness above. There was a crash as the child's hands rose to fight against the rope. The candlestick rolled across the floor, sending macabre shadows dancing across the walls. It waned and wavered, threatening to extinguish.

_Damn it all!_ He cursed. _His neck didn't break!_ Now he would have to watch the poor thing suffocate in what threatened to be some of the longest minutes of his life.

"I am truly sorry, lad." He whispered. The phantom was stunned at the heavy remorse in his own voice. He tried to wrest his heart from the gurgling sounds the boy made as he struggled for breath; his fingers unable to find purchase on the rope in those floppy gloves.

It was difficult to watch, and yet he could not look away. The hood of the boy's cloak fell back in his struggles, spilling long golden curls down his back. The Phantom froze. They were the radiant locks of his savior, Antoinette; before she became the tight-laced Madam Giry.

"Annie" he breathed, heart in his throat. In a blink he was off his perch and by her side, sword in hand. With a swish of his blade, she fell into his arms. She lay calm for only a moment, her hair in tangles over her face, before erupting into a fit of thrashing. He remembered these fits all too well from his childhood; when you become so desperate for self-preservation that anyone who approaches is a threat. He had nearly attacked Antoinette the night she had freed him. He thought back to what she had said and done to calm his mind.

Hugging her tightly to his breast, he shushed in her ear. Eventually she began to pacify.

"Ssssh, it's alright. You're alright." He cooed, tenderly removing strands of hair from her face. "Your safe now." As the last few curls fell away, the Phantom stiffened.

_Meg_.

She must have felt the change in him. Her eyes flitted open. He was painfully aware of the garish shadows the dying light must cast upon his masked face. Her eyes widened for a moment before rolling back in her head, and she went limp in his arms.


	2. Poor Judgement

Meg awoke with a lavish stretch, trying to piece together the odd dream she'd had. It was all very hazy, but she was certain it had something to do with the Opera Ghost.

She gasped, bolting upright in bed. Sure enough, a quick survey showed that she was still wearing the pageboy costume she had fled the burning opera in four years prior. _No! No no no! How could I be so careless?! _She couldn't believe that after so much planning, she had fallen asleep at the last moment.

Four years ago, she had taken the Phantom's mask so that she would forever have a piece of that genius to remember. But over the years, it only served to be a painful reminder of what was lost that day. It kept her from moving on with her life. Months ago, she had resolved that upon her return to the opera house, she would return the mask to its rightful resting place.

Everything had worked out perfectly. She arrived a few days early, dressed in her least cumbersome clothes, even borrowed Eugène's work gloves so that she didn't tear her own to bits on the sharp rocks below. And then she'd blundered up the most important part: staying awake until everyone else had retired for the night. She cursed under her breath. Now she had very little time to carry out her plan before the other dancers arrived.

But that dream. She'd dreamt she had gone through with her plan. She'd made her way through the winding ruins, and... and... _something_. It was as if her mind didn't want to remember. _Something terrible happened._ _But something wonderful as well. The Phantom was alive. He held me. Comforted me. But why?_

A tentative knock interrupted as she grasped at the memory. With a sigh, she robed herself and answered the door; where she was greeted with the nervous face of Eugène.

"Good morning, Miss Meg." He whispered, glancing around worriedly. It was improper of a man- or boy- to be calling on a lady like this. "Have you finished with my gloves? I kind of... um... need them now."

_Drat!_ She thought. _Why do I have to be such a clumsy thief of the night? _She prayed he would let her borrow them again later.

"Of course-"

"What happened to your neck?" He asked in alarm.

"What?" Her still gloved hand rose to her throat. "Oh, I... fell." She stammered, hoping to God it was a likely excuse for whatever he'd seen.

"On a rope?!"

The memories flooded back in a wave that made her knees nearly give way. It was all she could do not to gasp aloud. She tore off the gloves and shoved them into Eugène's chest with more force than intended.

"Well I... the rigging. Its a mess now and not where it should be at all and this is quite embarrassing when your supposed to be a woman of grace so if you'll excuse me I have to dress." The words spilled from her mouth in a tumble before she shut the door in his face.

She rushed over to her little mahogany box, the key falling several times from her shaking fingers before she managed to disengage the lock. Her heart skipped a beat.

_Empty._

* * *

The Persian hit the wall of his office with a satisfying thud. "I shee yeur angri abolt somfink" he choked as the Phantom's forearm pressed into his throat.

"Oh no, friend." The Phantom seethed. "Angry is a place with sunshine and rainbows, that I dream longingly of right now." He released the Persian and began to pace in an effort to calm himself; a hand smoothing down his hair.

"You have to stop doing that!" The dark-skinned man gasped, hands on his throat. "You'll kill me someday."

"I should kill you now!" He roared. "I told you to ban the staff from the catacombs below!"

"I did! I swear it!"

"You did a damned poor job!" The Phantom fumed. "I found someone wandering down there! They nearly found my home. Walked right up to my doorstep!" Some of the rage bled out of his voice as Meg's terrified face flashed through his mind. "I nearly killed them."

"But you didn't?" asked the Persian. The masked man shot him an icy glance. "No, that's good! I'm glad. But I thought you had a maze. It didn't deter them?"

"She already knew the way." Said the Phantom.

"Oh, I see."

The Persian did a double-take. "Wait... _She_?! She who? The first cast members don't arrive until tomorrow."

"It seems that Madam Giry's daughter arrived early. She always did seem an eager little sprite."

Now it was the Persian's turn to pace worriedly. "Oh that could have been catastrophic. Did she see you?" He asked, rubbing his chin.

"Unquestionably."

"Damn. That's bad. But we can figure out a story. At least you didn't hurt her."

The Persian's statement was met with a tense silence. He stopped pacing, voice coming out in a squeak. "Please, _please _tell me you didn't hurt her."

"I said that I didn't kill her." Corrected the Opera Ghost. "I never said I didn't _try_ to kill her." The manager's face turned nearly as white as his counterpart's mask. "Oh she'll be fine." The Phantom snapped. "I only hanged her a little."

"I think I'm going to be ill." Said the Persian with a hand on his belly. "Only a little?! This is very, very bad. If she goes blabbing that the Opera Ghost is back and trying to murder people, we'll lose our cast, our crew, and our patrons. We will be hunted down and executed. I can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe you should go kill her some more!"

"That is NOT going to happen!" He bellowed with renewed fury.

"Then what?!" The Persian's arms flailed about wildly. "Ship her to Persia in a box?!"

"I'll talk to her." The Phantom growled, stepping back into the secret passage from which he came. "I'll try to Reason with her."

"You? Reason?! Then she's as good as dead!" The Persian shouted after him, but he was already moving swiftly down the corridor.

With hardly an upwards glance, he stole through the winding passages towards his home. _Why did I return her to the surface?_ He wondered, perplexed by his own motives. It put everything in jeopardy, and yet he'd done it without a second thought. _Why didn't I let her die? Hell, why did I vow to the Persian that she would live? _The more he contemplated it, the more he insisted to himself it was because Meg was Antoinette's daughter... because he had never killed a woman... because he had promised the Persian he would cause no more unnecessary deaths. And yet he wavered even when the pious Persian would see him take action.

He knew he must be mad to think he could reason with her. Those glittering aqua eyes had rested on his face for only a fleeting moment before she'd been overwhelmed by fear. Why would it be any different on their second meeting?

What on earth had ever possessed her to come down here? Was she so desperate to be certain that her friend's kidnapper had perished? Had she thought to find a mountain of francs squirreled away somewhere? With a steeled resolve, he decided it made little difference.

He would make an attempt to bribe her. If causing his downfall meant she lost something too, it would assure that she wouldn't tell. And if she was entirely unreceptive or completely hysterical... then he had little choice. He would do what must be done; for the good of the opera.

As he approached the rock face where this whole mess had started, his foot collided with something. The thing scraped and skidded across the floor, sending an awful noise bouncing off the walls of the cavern. He bent to retrieve it, for once feeling as though _he_ had seen a ghost. The hair on the nape of his neck stood painfully on end as he stared at the mask that was lost four years ago.


	3. Informal Introductions

Meg's mind felt a bit like her sewing kit after a long, bumpy carriage ride. Threads of emotion in a hundred different hues were tangled up into a hopeless, indecipherable mess. Trying to free any single string from the turmoil only compounded the knots on the other end.

Head in her hands, she sat on the edge of her bed and tried to make sense of it all. She was ecstatic that he was alive and yet terrified. She'd always known he was a very dangerous man: this was not a new revelation. But the world had taught him cruelty at every turn and yet he reflected back only a fraction of it... along with a genius that had the power to move all of Paris to tears.

He'd cut her free. He'd comforted her. But on the other hand, Meg doubted she would fare so well if she tried her luck again. She was shocked he had let her go at all.

What sounded like the distant click of a lock roused her from her thoughts. She froze, not daring to look up for fear of what she might see. Never had she felt so small, so vulnerable as she did in that moment. Her senses were instantly on edge. She became acutely aware of every tiny breeze tickling across her skin. She chanced a glance at the door, her heart beating wildly in her chest. All was clear. She breathed a sigh of relief; and yet that feeling did not waver. ___This must be how a gazelle feels__, _she thought, ___when it hears a roar in the night__._

A rustle from behind nearly shot her out of her skin. With a gasp, she tried to spin around; but slender, leather-clad fingers wrapped over her mouth. An arm snaked across her chest, forcing her back against a strong torso.

"Do. Not. Scream." The Phantom demanded with a throaty rumble. She could not suppress a whimper when his breath hit her ear. "If you scream, you will force my hand." He whispered, his tone softer but just as menacing. "You don't want to do that, do you?" A tear spilled over his knuckles as she shook her head. He slowly pulled his hand away from her mouth.

"Please don't kill me, Monsieur." She choked, not yet daring to look at him. "I-I didn't know. I thought you were gone. Please... don't kill me."

"If I wanted you dead, your first warning would be when St. Peter greeted you at the pearly gates. That makes it awfully pointless to fear me, don't you think?" Meg wasn't really sure how to react. Never had someone tried to comfort her in such a threatening way. With an audible swallow, she nodded.

"Good." He praised, releasing her from his grasp. Tentatively, she turned to look into his masked face. There was a moment of silence as she studied his blue-gray eyes. There was no way she could feel even remotely safe in his presence until she knew the answer to one thing.

"Why did you save me yesterday?" Her voice was hardly above a whisper. He rose from the bed to walk about the room. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought he was uncomfortable with the question; and somehow that was comforting in itself. "A minute longer, and I would be out of your hair completely."

"Because I didn't want to." He answered tensely, hands folded behind his back. "Now enough small talk."

_Small talk? _She wondered. _He thinks this is small talk?! _Apparent he'd never had the luxury of experiencing that social tedium. It took her a moment to realize he was speaking again.

"As I'm sure you realize, I can't have you telling people I'm here. I am prepared to offer you 20 francs a month to buy your silence. That more than doubles your salary as a dancer."

Her jaw dropped. "What? No! I-"

"30 francs, then."

"Monsieur, please- "

"60 francs. That is far more than generous."

"NO! I won't take-"

"How much then? Name your price."

"Not for 500 francs, Monsieur! I don't want your money! I won't tell anyone, I swear it!"

He was silent for a moment, seeming to be in thought as he stalked around the room. "Then I will arrange for you to be the lead dancer. I've seen you, and you're really quite good. You will have the spotlight in every number."

"NO!" She was shouting now, and he looked genuinely taken aback.

"I offer you fame. I offer you fortune. And yet you turn me down. Why?" Her feet seemed to move without consent as she came to stand before him. With all the strength she could muster, she matched his gaze.

"I will not take what I haven't earned!" Her hands trembled as, despite her better judgment, they enveloped one of his. It felt a bit like petting a wolf. "You needn't bribe me. My heart resides in this opera house too. I would never jeopardize it." The look of unsureness in the Phantom's eyes was obvious, and for that fleeting moment, he looked so very human. "Please. Trust me."

* * *

___Trust her._He laughed inwardly. ___Trust her?! When has that ever worked out in the past? Especially when dealing with women._The closest thing he'd felt to trust was with the Persian, and that at times was questionable. In the end, he had been betrayed even by his savior Madam Giry; granted it was for good reasons, and he could not hold it against her. But now her flesh and blood was asking for his trust, and there was not a chance of getting it.

His excursion to Persia after the Paris Opera's close had been very educational. He'd learned quite a few things about power, business, and above all, making sure that people have strong incentive to do what you ask of them. Relying on man's good nature alone was like building a sandcastle too close to the shore; it was only a matter of time before the tide came in. Unfortunately for his Persian friend, he'd learned that lesson a little too late. Now the Persian was exiled from his own country.

He owed that man a lot. And if the opera failed, it would mean robbing him of a proper life for a second time. That could not be allowed to happen. He needed collateral. Everyone wanted _something; h_e just had to get inside Meg's mind and figure out what drove her. And he knew the perfect place to start.

Her eyes watched him intently as he reached inside his cloak. As soon as the corner of his old mask came into view, she put a hand to her mouth and turned away. His leather glove squeaked as he grasped her shoulder, his other hand wrapping around to hold the mask under her nose.

"Y-you found it." She stammered.

"I did indeed. But why?" His voice was gravely serious. "Why would you risk everything to return this to the catacombs?" Her entire body squirmed under his hold.

"It was never mine to take. I d-didn't want it anymore." That stung him a little. But there was something she wasn't saying.

"If you were done playing with the monster's porcelain face, why not just throw it out? Why not smash it or throw it in the river?"

"I- I just thought-" She wouldn't look at him, and it was making him angry. Instead, she continued her useless fidgeting. "It just seemed that..."

"Stop stammering and tell me!"

"I don't know..." Her voice was hardly a whisper.

"LIAR!" He growled, spinning her around to face him. Her cheeks were as red as his favorite roses. "Tell me why you've kept it all these years!"

"Because I wished I had what you gave Christine!" The words exploded out before her hands had the time to cover her mouth. The Phantom wasn't really sure what he'd expected to hear, but that wasn't it. After a moment's contemplation, he tenderly pulled her wrists away from her face. Her eyes were wide and glistening as she finally met his gaze.

"Now would be a very poor time to stop talking." He urged. Again she tried to look away but he put a finger under her chin and lifted it to face him.

"I w-wanted to learn to show the world what's in my soul. I want to touch people. I want to be loved and cherished for what's in my heart. You saw Christine's potential and taught her how to show it to the world."

A strange place in his stomach twinged. This was a perfect bargaining chip, but far too familiar to be comfortable. Images of his time spent with Christine danced painfully in his mind, but any other options were grim at best.

"Well then, I have a proposition for you. I will hone your skills as a dancer, and teach you to dance with what you feel inside. In return, you will be the star that ensures the success of the opera." As he spoke, the emotions in her eyes were utterly indecipherable.

"You... know about dance?" She asked.

"I watched the opera for most of my life. I learned with your mother. I helped her train. With the two of us working together, she nearly became a prima ballerina. That was of course before she... fell ill. Once you were born, she took her place as an instructor. It was a great loss for the company."

"She never told me any of that." Meg breathed softly. "And you can teach me to dance like she did?"

"If you'll let me." The Phantom assured her. "But know this: if you tell anyone, even her, I shall have to flee and you'll get nothing." Holding hand and chin aloft, he asked, "Shall we strike a deal?"

He thought she might bite through her lip at any moment; and yet she hesitated only a second before shaking his hand.


	4. The First Dance

Madam Giry had arrived earlier in the day, and Meg couldn't help but see her in a different light after what she'd been told; that is until she demanded that all the girls begin practicing immediately. Then everything seemed just as it had always been. By the time Meg stole away to the costume room, she was utterly exhausted.

She was amazed at the new costume department. It had been rebuilt in significant excess of what it once was. There was an entire room _within_ the room, devoted to vanities for the cast to change and put on makeup. The costumes were lavish and abundant. She could hardly imagine how such a collection could be acquired in only four years.

The Opera Ghost had given her specific directions to meet him by the mannequins. At the time she'd thought it was a simple enough request. But standing amongst a sea of pretend people that was bigger than many homes... it seemed a startlingly vague instruction. Making her way through the man-made crowd, she awed at the extravagant clothing they were adorned with. There were dresses that would be seen on royalty from all over the world; some topped with real fur trim. _These aren't costumes! _She realized. _These are as real as could be._

In another direction were crystal encrusted harem outfits that would make even a street-walker blush. Taffeta ballgowns, villainous robes of the darkest velvet, skirts with surely a thousand layers passed around her as though they were commonplace. And then out of the corner of her eye, one of them shifted.

"This way." A voice spoke. She did her best to follow it through the stationary mob. His words beckoned her until the sea parted to reveal a wall lit with two sconces. Between them stood the sinister form of a man, clad head-to-toe in silk robes that shimmered like the night sky.

"Are you ready?" The shadow questioned. With the slightest falter, she stepped forward. "Good," he said. "Then wrap your arms around my waist and hold on tight. I only built this wide enough to accommodate one person." Meg hesitated, approaching him as one might advance on a sleeping tiger.

"Built what? I don't see-"

"Hurry, before we are discovered!" He urged, black gloves extended from beneath his dark guise. "Quickly now!" With a nod, she took his hands. She had hardly grazed the tips of his fingers before he pulled her tight against him. Every crevice of his body was intimately pressed into hers as he enveloped her in his arms with crushing force. She gasped, partially from the feel of him against her, and partially because the world around them began to spin. By the time she realized they were no longer in the costume room, he was leading her down a dimly lit corridor.

In silence they traveled deeper and deeper into the ruins until they came upon the rock face that had nearly ended her. She froze, her heart fluttering in her chest and panic rising in her throat.

"Its alright." He insisted, moving to the wall. "Your safe. Watch." He pressed the toe of his boot into a small crevice just above the floor. She nearly screamed as the sound of grinding gears filled the cavern; but the panic melted away as the stone shifted to reveal a vast, magnificent room filled with candlelight. It looked as though a palace had been carved into the very rock. A large area in the center had been cleared of all rugs and furnishings.

"This is my music room." He gestured, bringing her inside.

"It's remarkable! How did you ever achieve this right under the owner's nose?"

"I have my ways." The Phantom deflected, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "I'm glad you like it, because until I find you a proper place to practice, it will have to do."

"It's absolutely wonderful." She boasted, hoping he could hear the sincerity in her voice. "Thank you for inviting me into your home." The Phantom faltered.

"I- yes, well- we'd best get started." He bumbled, busying himself by going to retrieve his violin. "What's a dance you remember?"

"Erm- the second act of Faust?" She blurted out, immediately kicking herself for such a poor suggestion. It was a long, challenging number and she was already very tired.

"A bold choice! Very well, take your position." He tucked the violin under his chin.

"But Maestro, I have no mirror."

"You should be dancing with your heart, not your eyes. I alone shall be the mirror through which you will see yourself."

Without a moment's hesitation he put bow to string. She scrambled to disrobe and get into place, having only a spit second to enjoy the breathtaking music he produced before he shouted "FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT!"

Over and over he lead her through the routine, gradually increasing the tempo until her body could hardly keep up with her feet. When the final note rang out for the fifth time she collapsed, trying to catch her breath.

"Wonderful!" He praised, bringing her a glass of water that she accepted eagerly. "You did beautifully for your first day back." The cool liquid spilled down her chin, but she didn't care; never had she danced so hard in her life. "And now that you're all warmed up, we will begin in earnest."

Water spewed from her mouth, landing on his pristine boots. He looked down at them with a curious expression, head cocking to the side. "Well that was unnecessary."

"Please Maestro, I'm exhausted."

He took her hand and guided her to her feet. "In the theater, first impressions mean everything. We have less than a month before the first production. When that day comes, I want the audience to riot if you are not given the spotlight. But that takes hard work and perseverance." With a blush not entirely from exertion, she nodded. "Don't worry" he said, "You will grow stronger with time." Once again he raised the violin and began to play; but it was not Faust. In fact it was like nothing she'd ever heard before.

The song seemed to follow no rules of composition. Instead it sang out with unbridled, bitter-sweet emotion. There was a sadness in it that stayed just below the surface. The notes fluttered at times like the voice of a singer while they crooned to her about incredible adventures to be had. The tune was mesmerizing, exotic, sultry; urging her to move in ways she didn't understand. It was all she could do to rouse herself from its spell when the Phantom began to speak as he played.

"You are a model ballerina, Meg. You're proper, composed, disciplined. Emotions never are. The things that move us, that speak to us, can never be described with any of those words."

"I think I understand. This music, it's..." She struggled to think of anything that could explain how it made her feel. "...its... indescribable."

"Then forgo the inadequacy of words and describe it in movement."

Timidly she began to move, her mind searching for the right steps. Pirouettes, Ronds de Jambes, Arabesques... it made no difference. Try as she might, the motions were in utter disharmony with his music. Finally out of sheer frustration, she called to him, "I cannot!" The melody halted. He set down the instrument and approached.

"That song originates from the Middle East, a place that often epitomizes raw emotion. And until you've learned to express yourself with your entire body as they do, there will be no more ballet. Understood?"

"Yes Maestro." She squeaked, at an utter loss for what he was asking of her.

"Good. Now lets play a game. I want you to do precisely as I tell you: no more, no less." Her stomach flitted as he came up behind and lifted her arms straight out to her sides, holding them firmly at the wrists. "Now move your hips in a circle."

"A circle, Monsieur?"

"Yes." He commanded.

"May I have my arms back?"

"No."

She began to protest, but thought better of it. Instead she did her best to swing her hips, one leg flowing around her in a leading hoop; but halfway through her chest followed, nearly pulling her arms from his grasp.

"I said move your hips!" He hissed. "Not your legs! Keep the rest of your body perfectly still."

"I don't understand!" Meg groaned. With a sigh, he released her wrists. She began to drop her arms, worried that he'd given up, but he pushed them back into place.

Without warning his hands enveloped her ribcage, holding her tighter than any corset. The tiniest whimper escaped her throat as his fingers grazed the underside of her breasts. Her mind screamed to tear away, but her body made no attempt to listen. Instead, a warmth spread through her stomach like a shot of cognac. He seemed completely unaware of the precarious placement of his hands, and she prayed the rapid tempo of her heart would not alert him to it.

"If you cannot keep the rest of your torso immobile," he chastened, "I've no choice but to do it for you. And if I see your feet move from that spot I will bind them together. Don't think for an instant that I'm joking."

"Yes Maestro." The words came out in no more than a breath.

"Now then... push your hip out to the right as if you mean to touch your right hand with it." It seemed an odd instruction, but she obeyed; and to her surprise, her hips moved farther than she thought possible. She let out a triumphant laugh, already knowing she'd done it correctly. It just felt right.

"That's the spirit." The Phantom purred. "Now circle." She did as requested, and the motion couldn't feel more opposite of the rigid structure she was so used to. It felt sensual, provocative.

"Is this right?" She asked. "It feels so... improper."

"Are your feelings always proper?" He whispered in her ear. She didn't answer, but the blistering heat of her cheeks said that she didn't have to.

For the next hour, he taught her how to isolate different parts of her body. By the time she left, the feel of his hands seemed etched into her skin; leaving her squirming even as she lay down to sleep.


	5. If Only

Meg walked lazily behind the divider that separated the changing area and began to undress. She was purposefully taking her time changing out of costume; waiting for the last stragglers to leave so that she could meet the Phantom for their evening lesson. A few of the girls were still giggling nearby when familiar hands encapsulated her bare shoulders. Even such a simple touch from him made her pulse begin to race. She wanted so badly to lay her head back onto his chest.

"Did I catch you at a bad time?" He whispered. It took a moment until she realized with wide eyed mortification that she had already removed her chemise. Her hands flew up to cover herself, but were seized and pulled gruffly back to her sides.

"What are you doing?!" She panted as he yanked up the hem of her skirt, fingers scouring up her thigh.

"Open your eyes, Meg. Are you really so blind to my desire?" Breath hot in her ear, his tongue snaked lewdly across her earlobe. She ought to be disgusted, but it only aroused her further. He spun her around, pulling her into him by the waist. She gasped as his manhood, rock-hard, ground into her hip. "I **need**you, Meg."

"Please, we can't! Someone will see!"

"Wake up and look around you. We are alone. There is only us." She looked around to see that he was right. The dressing room had been abandoned. They were alone. "We are all that matters now." He crooned. She looked back into his cool gray eyes. His hand brushed the side of her face as he whispered to her. "You're late."

Meg's brow furrowed. "What?"

Something in his eyes grew gloomy. "Wake up." He murmured.

"Why do you keep saying that?"

His arm slipped from her waist and he stepped away. The shadows around him swelled and multiplied, enveloping everything they touched like a fog. The ivory mask was the last thing to disappear into the rolling darkness.

"Wake up! Madam will have your hide!" Meg's eyes shot open to be greeted with the worried face of their newest dancer, Annette. "Finally! You looked like you were having one terrible nightmare."

"Uh... yeah." Meg answered bleary eyed, the fading image of the Phantom still lingering in her mind. She had spent weeks now sneaking off to practice the strange motions he'd been teaching her. They had met nearly every day since that first night. The time spent with him was like no other she'd known. He cared little for social etiquette, and that was wonderfully freeing. But their practices were also very demanding on her sleep; in more ways than one.

"Oooh. Were you dreaming of... him?" Meg's eyes snapped to the young girl.

"Of who? I-I don't know what you mean."

"You know. The Opera Ghost." Said the girl excitedly, oblivious to Meg's discomfort. "If I had seen all the terrible things down there, I would have nightmares too! I heard there were rats and torture devices and human remains."

Meg sighed in relief, getting up and dressing as quickly as possible. "It wasn't as terrible as all that."

"Well don't you ever get scared that he'll come back?"

"He's dead. He's not coming back." She dismissed, hurrying out the dormitory and down the hallway. Her haste was far less about avoiding Madam Giry's wrath, and mostly about getting away from Annette's questions. Annette however had other ideas, and stayed hot on Meg's tail.

"But how do you know for sure? Some people think he's not really dead." Meg nearly stopped in her tracks. _That,_ she thought_, is a very dangerous rumor. _She refused to have everything she had come to love jeopardized by suspicion. There were a hundred reasons why she lied; but only a handful that she would admit even to herself.

"I know... because there was only _one_ body I saw down there; and it wore a half-charred white mask." Annette's mouth fell agape just as Meg opened the door to the dance studio. Thankfully, she had no time to recover before the ice-cold voice of Madam Giry took over.

"Good morning ladies. I see you are both so sure of your skills that you can afford some extra beauty rest. Unfortunately for you, I do not share your confidence."

"Sorry Madam." The two girls replied in unison. Annette began to babble off an excuse, but Madam Giry rapped her cane on the ground to demand silence.

"The first production is just beyond the horizon, and we cannot afford to waste any more time. Take your places quickly before I consider having the manager dock your pay."

"Don't worry." Annette whispered as they took spots on the bar. "You don't need the practice anyways. You're wonderful." Although Meg hadn't noticed a difference in her dancing, others around the opera house had. She'd begun getting compliments from other girls on the fluidity and grace of her movements. And yet their recognition was not what she truly longed for. All she could think about was seeing HIM that evening.

It came as no surprise when Madam Giry, pulled her aside after practice. The other girls hurried out of the studio, Annette giving an apologetic glance as she too scampered out the door.

"I expected better of you, Meg." Madam Giry scolded once they were alone. "What is the excuse for your tardiness?"

"I have no excuse, Madam. I overslept." Meg glanced nervously at the clock on the mantle. She didn't want to keep the Phantom waiting. "It will not happen again." She steeled herself for a verbal lashing, but it did not come. Madam Giry simply sighed.

"What has gotten into you, child? Even when you're here on time, your mind is somewhere else entirely. Then as soon as practice is over you disappear. People are beginning to think you are a ghost." She studied Meg's face with eagle eyes. "Is there something I should know?"

"No!" Meg blurted out, a bit more defensively than intended. "I just like to go... into town sometimes. To be alone."

"To be alone? You have a responsibility to this troupe, and wandering unescorted through the city isn't part of it!"

"What does it matter what I do in my free time?" Meg argued, stealing another glance at the clock and growing increasingly impatient. "Has my performance faltered?"

"No." Madam Giry admitted. "It seems the four years away has done you well in that regard. But I'm not talking about your performance. You are one of our best and most accomplished dancers. Many of these girls look up to you, and it is your responsibility to provide a good example."

"Why?!" Meg snapped. "Why is that MY responsibility. Why isn't it Leanna's responsibility? She's the lead dancer!"

"It falls on you both!" Madam Giry squawked.

"And what does such a responsibility get me?! Is there even the slightest chance you will select me as the lead some day?" The room prickled with a tense silence until Madam Giry finally answered in a whisper.

"You know that will never happen."

"So that's it then." Meg said resolutely. "That is to be my life; to devote more than anyone else to this troupe and have nothing to show for it."

Madam Giry rapped her cane on the ground in a show of irritation. "Quit your selfish whining! You sound like an insolent child. You are my daughter. If I chose you as lead, the other girls would think I was playing favorites!"

"Is that it, Mother?" Meg spat. "Is it really? Or are you afraid that if people notice me, I'll make the same poor decisions you did?" The last words had barely left her mouth before Madam Giry's palm landed hard across her cheek. Meg recoiled, mouth agape. She wasn't sure if she was more shocked by her mother's actions or her own words. "I... I'm sorry. I don't know why I-"

"Get. Out." Madam Giry interrupted in a growl. Meg began to speak again, but the look on her mother's face made it very clear that she would hear none of it. Cursing her childish behavior, she walked out of the studio and headed for the costume room. She could only hope a night of strenuous practice would take her mind off what just happened.


	6. A Give and Take

The Phantom approached Meg as she set her cloak on one of his chairs. "Do you trust me?" He asked. She was silent a moment, as if choosing her words carefully.

"In many ways."

"Enough for this?" He asked, holding aloft a small strip of black satin. She looked at the piece of cloth with a timid curiosity. "Turn around." He commanded gently, enjoying the graceful way she moved to obey. With tender fingers he laid the material over her eyes and tied it behind her head. He smoothed her silken locks beneath the knot. The ringlets glistened like spun gold in the candlelight as they fell through his fingers; even softer than the satin he'd adorned them with.

He stepped back to admire the sight of her: vulnerable, nervous, and yet entirely trusting. "You lied for me today." He said as he began to circle around her. She turned her head, trying to pinpoint his location in the echoing room. She looked so innocent standing blind before him. He couldn't help wanting to toy with her a bit.

"What do you mean, Monsieur?" She asked, but he did not answer. Instead, he left her in utter silence. The moments ticked by and she began to squirm anxiously, shifting from foot to foot. "Maestro? Are you still there?" Soundlessly he glided up behind her until he was close enough to feel her warmth, and for her to feel his. A dainty gasp escaped her throat as she felt his presence and spun around to face him.

"There was only one body I saw down there." He recited back to her as she took a stumbling step back. "It wore a half-charred white mask." The black ribbon over her face did nothing to hide the crimson that bloomed across her cheeks.

"And I wept when I discovered it." She said in a tone of startling sincerity.

"Hah!" He snorted, making her jump. She may not have meant for her words to be cruel, but they were. The idea of someone weeping for the death of the devil below the opera was ludicrous. To mention it was nothing short of patronizing. "My dear, you are in the wrong business. You should have been an actress!" Her hands clasped together to renew their fidgeting as she looked down at the shoes she couldn't see. "Stop that!" He chastened, batting her hands back down. "You must always stand tall and proud; even when you feel quite the opposite."

"Yes Maestro. Sorry Maestro." She stammered, straightening up and lifting her head high.

"Much better." The Phantom crooned. "Now then. I have something to show you." He said, doing his best to bury the twinge of pain her words had caused as he grasped her hands. Carefully the Phantom guided her through the main room, through the hallway, and into a place she had never seen. He placed her in the center of the space where she would have the best view of her new dance studio. Breathing in her soft, feminine scent, he reached around to untie the satin band. As it fell away, her eyes flitted open; squinting in an effort to focus through the newly afforded light. He watched them widen as she made a slow scan of the room, taking in everything from the expansive mirrors to the expertly polished oak floors. When she finally turned to him, her lids were brimmed with tears.

"I just... How did you..." She started before falling back to silence.

"Well I never really used my reading room. It was always a bit too big for my taste. This suites the space much better, I think. Its a shame for it go unused, so now I give it to you."

Her mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came out. And when words failed her, she did something utterly foreign to him. She dove forward to wrap her graceful arms around his waist and bury her head in his chest. _She is... hugging me. _He thought, but despite that realization, he hadn't the slightest idea how to react. This... was his first hug. It felt inviting in a way he was at a loss to explain. With a great amount of hesitation, he did the only thing that seemed right. He wrapped his arms timidly around her, running an unsure hand over her soft hair. To his surprise, she did not recoil or protest. Instead, she held him tighter still. And in that moment with her in his arms, a thousand hurts melted away. For that fleeting instant, he was no longer a monster or a murderer. He was just a man, like any other.

"This is wonderful." Meg murmured against his chest. "Thank you, Maestro."

"Erik." He replied. "You may call me Erik... if you wish." She turned her sparkling eyes up to meet his gaze, the warmth of her breath dancing across his lips.

"Thank you, Erik." She said. "But how could I ever repay you?"

"You already have." Erik whispered, brushing away a stray tendril from her cheek. He studied the soft features of her face, her rosy cheeks and those delicate pink lips he wanted so badly to touch. He was not left wanting for long. Her eyes fluttered closed as she tenderly pressed her lips to his.

Shock froze him in place for a moment, but desire quickly won out. Her lips felt more luxurious than any velvet, and he wanted more. His fingers found the back of her neck and pulled her closer, replacing her soft kiss with a more urgent one. She submitted to his demands, opening her mouth for him to explore. He claimed it hungrily, deepening their embrace. For that wonderful moment, nothing existed outside of them. He was hers, and she was his.

It was tragically short-lived. He felt the nearly-forgotten mask brush against Meg's cheek, and it yanked him viciously back to reality. The memory of Christine's horrified face played through his mind. Poor Meg would be sick if she ever knew what a grotesque freak she had allowed to kiss her perfect lips. The image of it was almost too much for him to bear. He realized all too clearly that she must be discouraged from any romantic interest in him. If not, she would one day insist that he remove his mask. And once that point was reached, he would lose her whether he removed it or not.

"No!" Erik barked, tearing away from her before he lost his resolve. "This is NOT a gratitude I appreciate. You have made a grievous mistake in your affections. I am your teacher and nothing more."

"I'm s-sorry." She stammered. "I thought-"

"You thought wrong!" He spat, though it nearly broke what little heart he could afford. "Come. I should return you to the surface. Opening night nears and you need your rest." He made a gruff grab for her wrists to lead the way, but she snatched them back.

"No." Her voice came out in a wavering squeak. "I can find my own way. I've troubled you enough."

As she turned and ran out of the room, it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to let her go.

* * *

Meg hurried back to the dressing room. The very first performance at the new opera had just ended, and she was eager to see if there was any word from Erik. It had been nearly a week since that horrible day where she'd managed to muck up two relationships in only a few hours. Madam Giry still hadn't entirely forgiven her despite numerous apologies, and she'd heard not a single word from her Maestro. She could only hope that he still cared enough to attend. Meg could feel her cheeks start to burn white-hot again as if the whole ordeal had just happened.

After the fight with her mother, she had been desperate for an escape from her guilt; but she knew that was no excuse for being so impetuous._Of course he doesn't want me! _She thought._ He still loves Christine. He was simply being kind, and I saw what I wanted to see. _She wanted desperately to seek him out and beg him to continue teaching her; to swear to him that she would never again be so bold. But she knew that it would be unwise to invade his home without invitation.

"Meg! There you are!" Annette shouted as she walked into the costume room. "You won't believe it!" She said, bouncing excitedly on her heels.

"Believe what?" Meg asked as they walked back to the makeup counters.

"Look! You got flowers! Loads of them! Madam Giry said almost as many as Leanna!" Sure enough, Meg turned her attention to her assigned counter-space and found it covered with flowers. There were small bouquets of lilacs, of tulips, of lilies, of white roses, and even a bundle of hand-picked wildflowers adorned with a child's drawing of a ballerina. Amongst the bouquets there was also a liberal scattering of the overpriced carnations they sold in the lobby. She hardly knew what to say.

The room went quiet as she approached. Many of the new girls gathered around, waiting for her to say something; as if she might bestow on them some mystical flower-getting wisdom. It was all quite overwhelming.

"There has obviously been a mistake." She lied. "These are surely the flowers that ALL of us were given. They've simply piled them all in one spot." A murmur whisked through the crowd, until Annette chimed in.

"No. They all came addressed to you. I heard it." Meg could have kicked her.

"But we all earned these." She defended. "A troupe is nothing without each other." She reached down and picked up the bundle of wildflowers. "I want these ones. All of you earned the rest. Now come everyone! Choose yours!" For second after agonizing second, no one moved. Finally, one girl ran forward and snatched up a bouquet of tulips as though it might escape. From there it was all over. The room transformed into a flurry of hair and tutus. Meg had to fight to keep her balance as she was shoved to and fro in the battle to claim the prettiest arrangements. In the blink of an eye most of them were gone, leaving some girls pulling single carnations back and forth in a tug-of-war.

The last of the bickering girls froze as Leanna walked in carrying a huge bouquet of sumptuous red roses.

"Wow." Meg breathed as she approached. "Those are beautiful!"

"Yes" She huffed. "Well... they're for you. They got sent to my dressing room by mistake." Leanna dumped them in Meg's arms and strode back out the door only seconds after she'd come in. Meg set the roses down on the counter to admire. Much to her surprise, no one tried to seize them in lieu of a half-pulverized carnation. She couldn't help but wonder who would send her such an extravagant gift.

"Look, there's a card." Said the ever diligent Annette, still glued to Meg's side. Meg's heart pattered in her throat as she reached for it. It was written on a fine, soft paper.

**'You gave a wonderful performance tonight,**

**and deserve nothing less than to take center stage.**

**I look forward to seeing you again.**

**I only hope that you will agree to meet with me**

**tomorrow evening. Until then,**

**I will remain in the shadows**

**of your grace.**

**M.'**

"M? What a curious way to end a letter." Annette commented, reading over Meg's shoulder. "It seems you have a rather shy secret admirer." Meg stole a glance over the sea of mannequins, looking for any sign of her Maestro, but found nothing. She could only hope he was around to hear her.

"I wish I could tell him that I will gladly meet with him tomorrow night." Meg uttered a bit louder than necessary. Annette let out an excited chitter, and for once Meg shared in her enthusiasm.


	7. Compromise

Madam Giry pulled Meg aside after the final bows. She let the rest of the troupe pass, falling into a leisurely pace behind them once they were out of earshot. Her face still conveyed a fading hurt, and her usual stoicism only made it more evident.

"I heard about what you chose to do with your tokens of admiration. It was an honorable gesture."

Meg's cheeks grew warmer. "Thank you." She answered. "They were more than any single person could enjoy. It only seemed right to share them."

"Leanna might gain a bit more respect if she showed a similar sentiment. But to the point, something tells me that you can expect more of such gifts. Shall I instruct that your flowers be divided amongst the girls in the future?"

"Yes!" Chimed Meg excitedly before recomposing herself. "That would be perfect. Thank you. Oh, except for ones that seem special. Like ones that have notes."

"Ah yes. Your admirer. That has also been brought to my attention." Madam Giry looked at her with a raised eyebrow as they rounded the corner into the main hallway. "Are you certain there is nothing I should know?"

"No, I-"

"Meg? Meg Giry?" Meg turned to see a young man only a bit older than herself step forward. His strong, chiseled jaw and thick black hair perfectly framed a set of deep blue eyes. He was devilishly handsome in his own right, and the painstakingly tailored suit only added to his dashing appearance. Madam Giry took one sweeping glance of him, her other brow raising to meet the first, and made her exit.

"I am she." Meg said.

"You danced beautifully tonight." Said the man with a charming smile. "I was hoping I might interest you in an evening stroll." Meg gave him another once-over. He was very good looking, and she knew that she should give him a chance. But the only thing she could think of at that moment was her meeting with Erik.

"I must regretfully decline." She cut past him and continued down the hallway, and much to her frustration, he followed suit.

"Please, Mademoiselle. My heart will be adrift if you do not permit me the pleasure of your company."

"I am truly sorry Monsieur, but I have promised the evening to another." To her relief, he stopped where he stood.

"I see." He said, and the crestfallen tone of his voice made her feel terrible. "Of course. How silly of me to think I would be the only one vying for your attention."

"My deepest apologies. Perhaps another time." To her surprise, he was not disheartened for long and caught up to her in a flash. He turned to walk backwards so that they were speaking face to face.

"That is just fine by me. You may find I am not so easily deterred!" She quickened her pace, but he kept in stride. "I shall attend every performance and send flowers every night until I have stolen your heart!" His enthusiasm was flattering, and she couldn't suppress a giggle as he nearly tripped over an end-table.

"Very well." She laughed as they reached the door to the costume room. "But my training schedule is very strict. I can make no promises."

"Your consideration is gift enough. Should I send something different next time? Or did the red roses please you?" Meg's entire body stiffened, hand frozen on the doorknob; the smile fading from her face.

"What?" She breathed.

"The ones I sent last night. Did you not receive them? I attached a note."

"No... I..." She stuttered, doing her best to find words through the torrent of thoughts screaming through her mind. "Those were from you?"

He took her hand, bowing as he kissed her knuckles. "Martine Beaudet of Beaudet Banking, at your service."

"They suite me just fine. Please excuse me, I need to change." In one swift movement, she slipped out of his grasp and through the door, closing it behind her.

Not knowing whether Erik had cast her away for good was torture. For a fleeting second she considered heading to the dance studio in his home. After all, he had said 'I give it to you'. She shook her head as if to dislodge the notion. That kind of brazen behavior had been the cause of this whole mess, and the thought of angering him further was terrifying. But she had to try _something_. On uncertain legs, she headed for the special place hidden behind the mannequins.

* * *

"Maestro?" Meg stood a few feet inside the secret entrance as she called for him. She'd caught him off guard, leaving him less than a second to slip undetected around the first bend. "Maestro!" Her tone relayed a timid desperation, and yet she hadn't dared move any farther down the passageway. The Phantom slumped against the wall, leaning his head back on the frigid stone as if it might help solidify his resolve. It had been painfully hard to stay away, but with the feel of her lips still fresh in his mind, he didn't trust himself. Again, her voice echoed down the hall. "Erik!"

It would be so easy to yield to temptation and go to her. He would spend every franc he possessed showering her in lavish gifts if it meant feeling the way he had with her in his arms. But deep down he knew that her love was priced in a currency he could not earn. That thought was the meager thread supporting his will to stay away. Her voice fell to a whisper, as if she'd lost all hope that he could hear her. "Erik... please. I need you." The thread frayed.

Time ticked by as he waited for her to leave. He finally heard her slippers shuffle across the floor and let out a relieved exhale. But then another noise reached his ears. It was the sound of a single, hiccuping sob. His stomach lurched, and before he knew what was happening, he was rounding the corner towards her.

"Meg." She spun to face him, tears glittering on her cheeks.

"Maestro... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I made a mistake. Please don't forsake me!" She babbled. "I'll be good, I promise! I'll be good." Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. "I'll behave."

He moved forward, gently cupping her face and brushing away a tear with his thumb. "Hush now, its alright. All is forgiven." She looked up at him, searching his face as if it were whole. Such a simple thing, and yet it made his heart and mind flutter with unjustifiable hopes. He cast them from his thoughts before they could take a dangerous hold. "Come, we should practice. I didn't build you a studio for it to go unused." He turned to lead the way, but not before catching the smile that graced her lips.

For several hours she practiced. His violin sung as she flowed through the routines, stopping only when he worked to better define her movements. Even through his kid skin gloves, the heat of her body seared his flesh with every touch. Erik did his best to concentrate, but it was difficult at times. Learning the dance of the east had done a great deal for her. She moved with both poise and fluidity. And yet he did not see what he knew she was capable of. The potential was there, thinly veiled but still hidden, floating just below the surface.

They finished the last set and he ushered her to his side. "I have good news for you." He said, setting down his instrument. "I recieved word that in two week's time, Denis Lazard the infamous art critic will be visiting our theatre. It is imperative that you make a lasting impression with him. With his praises, the world will fall to your feet." Her look of curiosity transformed into one of worry.

"But how? I am nothing but a chorus girl!" She began to breath faster. Erik sighed, coming to stand behind her.

"Leanna is a beautiful lead, is she not?"

"Yes." Meg replied. "She is very graceful."

"But tell me. Does her performance move you?" She glanced back at him with unsure eyes.

"No."

"Nor I." He answered. "But why not?"

"I... don't know."

"Because it is just a series of movements. Dry. Emotionless. She doesn't dance with her heart." In a moment of self-indulgence, the Phantom grasped one of her shoulders. He reached around to pick up her tiny hand and press it to her chest. Her pulse thrummed rapidly under his palm as he whispered in her ear. "Show me your heart, Meg. Move with the music in your soul."

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as he picked up his violin once more. And when she began to dance...

The difference was night and day.


	8. Savagery

Martine was waiting for her to change. Meg had told the Phantom about him, determined to prove that she was moving on. He had seemed happy to hear it, encouraging her to give the man some of her time. He'd even forgone their training schedule, instructing that she travel to his home below the opera when she wanted to practice. It was a bitter-sweet invitation.

Annette helped her slip on her warm cloak, chattering like a hen about how dashing Monsieur Beaudet was. Meg had half a mind to insist that Annette go out with him in her stead. But as she stepped through the door to meet him, she had to admit that Annette was right. He offered his arm with a twinkling smile.

They walked through the crisp evening air to the park, chatting about their lives as they went. Martine told her that he had fallen in love with the theatre at a young age. His mother took him to shows while his father worked long hours at the bank. He said that for some time he resented his father's absence, until he began to learn the family business. Meg felt she had very little to tell him in return. She talked about how her mother was a famous ballerina, and she was raised in the Paris Opera. He asked her a great many questions about the infamous fire four years ago.

Conversation dropped away as Martine led her off the walking path and through the trees, to a hidden clearing. A man stood waiting there, blanket draped over his arm. Meg grew uneasy.

"What are we doing here? Who is that man?" She asked, pulling away. Martine chuckled softly, taking the blanket from the stranger.

"He is my valet." He shook the linen out to spread across the ground. "I though you might enjoy a picnic under the stars." Relief washed over her as the valet set down a small basket filled with food and two crystal glasses. "After all, I only get to see you at night. I might as well make the best of it." He took her hand and helped her down onto the sheet before joining. Martine dismissed the valet with a wave and began to unpack the basket, pouring her a generous helping of wine.

"Oh, that is more than enough!" She laughed, pulling her glass away. "I have no head for wine." He shrugged, a wry half-smile creeping across his lips.

"Well then. I suppose I will have to keep you warm instead." He taunted. Playfully, she feigned bewildered outrage before re-offering her glass for him to fill. It was only a short time before they were laughing together as they nibbled on fruit and cheese. Meg was surprised that she was genuinely enjoying herself.

"Have you always wanted to follow in your mother's footsteps?" Martine asked as they finished the last of dinner.

She could feel her cheeks begin to warm as the wine took hold. It was all very relaxing. "Actually when I was a little girl, I had the notion to be a chocolatier."

"Ah, now see? I said to myself 'I bet this girl likes bonbons. They are beautiful on the outside and sweet on the inside..." He reached into the basket and pulled out a box of chocolates. "Just like her.'"

"Oh, you shouldn't have. They must have been terribly expensive." She said as he handed her the gold-leafed box with an elaborate bow.

"Nonsense. Say the word, and I would buy you an entire Chocolaterie! We could name it M&M's for Martine and Meg. And if you cook anything like you dance, it would be famous all over the world."

Meg giggled, playfully hitting his shoulder. "Such things you say! Besides, that is a terrible name! It sounds more like a bank firm than a candy shop"

"You can call our imaginary Chocolaterie whatever you like, cherie." As he spoke, Meg found herself stifling an involuntary yawn. Martine glanced at his pocket watch with a sigh. "But it seems all dreams must come to an end. I should take you back."

"I'm sorry." She said through another yawn. "I told you I have no head for wine." He helped her to her feet, and as soon as she was upright, the alcohol hit her in earnest. She stumbled into his embrace.

"You did not lie!" He teased, sweeping her off her feet and into his arms. "Lucky for you I have my valet waiting just around the corner." He bore her dutifully to his carriage and placed her safely inside before going to collect their picnic. Shortly after he took his place beside her and signaled to the driver with a few taps on the ceiling.

* * *

The Phantom watched as Meg and her new suitor headed for the opera house. They seemed in good spirits; laughing as they tried to walk wrapped in each others arms. The wealthy young banker was most certainly handsome; but try as he might, the Phantom could not bring himself to be happy for her. At first it had seemed like a godsend. Now as he watched them stride merrily along, it was difficult to see it that way.

Meg playfully shushed the man before tripping over one of his feet with a yelp. He caught her, and for several painful moments, the two gazed into each others eyes. Rage swelled within the Opera Ghost as the little halfwit swooped in and took her mouth with his. The Phantom did his best to regain his composure; but the fury returned two-fold as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Every corner of his mind screamed at him to look away, and yet he could not.

Night after night for nearly two weeks, the Phantom lurked in the shadows. He could not stand seeing Meg in another's arms, but was unable to look away. Never had he felt such an utter loss of control. Every evening he would decide to stay in the comfort of his lair; and yet he would find himself watching for her return, subjected to the torture of the couple's affections. Their glowing happiness only fueled the fires of his private hell.

* * *

"I have a treat for you." Martine said as they strolled through the park. It was Sunday, the one day the opera did not play. Meg marveled at the the man of surprises, who'd somehow managed to convinced Madam Giry to let her skip practice. It was wonderful to enjoy the warm sun with good company. "I've gotten us tickets to the Jardin d'Acclimatation." He boasted, ushering to the high walls that encased a portion of the park. "It is said to hold the most exotic menagerie of beasts the world has ever seen." Meg smiled with excitement. She had never been to the zoo, despite its close proximity. "And from what I hear, there is a new exhibit which I think you will quite enjoy. It has kept them sold out for weeks. But nothing is unobtainable when it comes to my angel." He said, stroking her cheek.

They made their way through the gate and were soon immersed in countless exhibits from distant lands. For hours they marveled together at different animals wandering in scenes of their own habitat. There were bears of every shape and color, lions, badgers, enormous snakes, tigers, and even a giant bird with a very long neck.

"That is called an ostrich. It comes from the far east, where desert sands stretch as far as the eye can see." Meg's mind flitted back to the time below the opera house when she'd heard Erik play his violin for the very first time. The music moved her even now. Suddenly the animals held far less appeal.

"Are you alright?" Martine asked, shaking her from her thoughts. When she glanced to him, a tear forged its path down her cheek.

"I'm fine." She lied. "This is wonderful. Thank you."

"But wait. We still haven't seen the new exhibit!" He enthused, taking her hand. "Come!" Deftly Martine cut his way through the crowd that had formed around one of the cages; managing to secure them a spot right next to the bars. He pulled her in front of him, holding her by the waist.

She peered inside to find several huts. A number of dark-skinned people wandered around inside, adorned in little more than scraps of fabric tied about their hips. A few of them wore headdresses and necklaces made of what appeared to be claws. Some of them would occasionally glance at the crowd with sad eyes before going about their business. The women wore no corsets or chemises, their breasts swinging freely as they moved. Meg watched with mortification as a tiny ebony boy ran up to accept a cookie that a Frenchwoman offered him through the bars. One of the young girls in the tribe snatched him away as he reached for it, and began scorning him in a strange tongue.

"The plaque says that this is theMelanesian exhibit." Martine chimed in over her shoulder. "My goodness, this is extraordinary! Look at their dark skin! How peculiar." Meg watched in horror as the crowd gaped, pointing and musing at these people in the cage. Her mother's voice from years ago whispered in her head. It told the story of a poor child who was imprisoned, mocked and beaten in a gypsy carnival for the way he looked.

She could take no more.

In an instant she had torn through the crowd, putting herself far away from the loathsome spectacle. It took Martine only moments to follow suit. "What's wrong?" He asked.

"That!" She shouted. "Those are people! Real people!"

He looked at her with confusion. "They are nothing but savages... hardly more evolved than monkeys."

She shook her head violently, unable to speak.

"It's alright." He assured her. "Their brains are far less capable than ours. They probably think they are still in their native land. And when the exhibit ends they are sent back; no harm done."

It took a while before she could find the words to express her dismay. "Are _we_ so ill evolved that we think it is alright to steal them from their homeland? To point and laugh at them? You cannot tell me that you do not see humanity in their eyes!" She turned away, trying to drive the image out of her mind.

Martine wrapped his arms around her shoulders, whispering apologetically in her ear. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to disturb you. This is supposed to be a fun excursion. Let us find something more pleasant to enjoy."

Meg let him lead her through and out of the crowd, following him to a large building that stood on its own. She stepped inside to find that all the walls were made of glass. Behind them where huge pools of water. It was as if they had walked into the sea. Schools of fish swam behind the glass in an amazing display of coral and long strings of water plants. The shock of what she had just seen began to fade away, replaced with an awe of her new surroundings.

"This is the aquarium." Martine informed her. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"Yes." She sighed, stepping closer to look at a beautifully colored fish. "This is amazing." He came up to stroke a hand over her hair. For several minutes they remained in silence and simply watched the activity around them. After a while he bent down and pointed over her shoulder to a radiant orange and white fish hiding in a moving pink plant.

"That is you. Breathtaking and elusive." She smiled up at him.

"Oh? And which one are you?" She asked.

Biting his cheek, he searched the tank until finally pointing to the shark that swam in the depths.

"I am that one... because I want to devour you!" He said, nipping playfully at her neck. They watched for a while longer before he pulled her away from the glass. "I have another gift for you." He announced. "I was hoping you would do me the honor of wearing it." Out of his pocket he produced a small velvet box.

She eyed it with a terrible suspicion, praying that it was not what she thought. Moments like these should be happy ones; and yet in one clarifying moment, she realized this was not where she wanted to be.

Her hand moved to her throat as he opened the box.

The lid flipped up to reveal a delicate hair ribbon spun of thin golden strands. The expensive cord was accented with tiny crystals that sparkled with every movement of the water around them.

"It was the only thing I could find that might pay homage to your radiant hair. I would love to see you wear it on stage." She breathed a sigh of relief as he removed it from its encasement; turning to let him place it in her hair.

"It is absolutely beautiful." Meg did her best to give him a warm smile. "I do not deserve such a gift."

"No price is too high for your love." He cooed, and yet all she could think about was returning to the safety of the opera house.

"You overwhelm me with your generosity." She insisted, placing a hand on her stomach in feigned distress. " I feel a bit faint."

As always, he was the perfect gentleman. He whisked her off to his carriage and escorted her home; doting on her the entire way. She couldn't help the feeling of guilt that overcame her on the journey. Here was a man that would give anything. And all she wanted was for him to deliver her to the man that would toss her aside.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

** I would like to mention that the concept of the "human zoo" is not mine, and is in fact 100% true. I have described it as accurately as the sparce records afford. All I did was fudge the numbers by about 3 years. I had no idea such a thing existed before writing this chapter. When I first read about it, I nearly laughed it off. I thought someone had been messing with the wiki. To my horror, this was not the case. In 1877, Paris saw their first human "exhibit" in the Jardin d'Acclimatation, which sat on the second largest park in the city. These shows remained wildly popular all the way until the 1930's. So as ludicrous as the notion may seem, it is merely proof that truth is often stranger and more terrible than fiction.**


	9. Revelations

"So everything is prepared for the critic's visit? Absolutely everything?" Erik inquired sceptically.

"Yes, everything." The Persian assured him.

"And you reserved box 5 for him? It is the best seat in the house."

"Yes yes. It is all taken care of."

Erik ran a nervous hand through his hair. He wanted everything to be just right. "Worry not, my friend." said the Persain. "The critic will be escorted in, watch the performance from box 5 while dining on our most splendid meal, and then he will..." The Persian's voice trailed off to an inaudible mumble. "... enjoythemsqrade. It will be perfect! Have no fear!"

The Phantom eyed him with suspicion. "What are you bumbling about? It isn't like you to mince words unless I'm choking you. Speak up."

The Persian needlessly rearranged the items on his desk. "And then he will enjoy the... erm..."

"Out with it!" Erik shouted impatiently.

"... the masquerade."

The two stared at each other in an uncomfortable silence until Erik growled. "What."

The Persian let out a tense laugh, shrugging his shoulders. "I couldn't help myself! The patrons, the staff... they were all looking forward to the annual festivities!"

"I told you! NO masquerade!" Erik bellowed.

"I know you did. But you also hired me to do what is best for business!" Insisted the dark-skinned manager. "And canceling the largest gala of the year is hardly wise!"

"Fine!" The Phantom yelled, slamming his fist down on the desk. "Have your gala. But must it be a masquerade?!"

"Its tradition!" The Persian insisted nervously. "Besides... how else could you attend?" His face scrunched up in anticipation of the Phantom's rage.

"WHAT?!" Erik roared, hands clenching and unclenching in an overwhelming desire to kill his manager. "Please tell me you haven't promised anyone that I would make an appearance."

The Persian gave another uncomfortable laugh. "I must say, this 'Meg' has done wonders for your temper. You didn't even try to strangle me! Are you certain I should not make her the lead before the critic comes?"

Erik took a long, composing breath. "No. I want her to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she earned it on her own. Now what is this nonsense about me attending?"

"Well... it would be terribly suspicious if no one ever met the new owner of the opera. Intrigue would eventually mount, and people would want answers. It is much wiser to displace such intrigue early on, when you have the chance. As long as a few reputable people can say 'Yes, I've met him', you will be safe. And what better opportunity than the masquerade? After that, people will lose interest and you can fade into the shadows as a silent partner."

Erik's hand moved to massage his uncovered temple. He wanted so much to argue but knew that the Persian had a strong point. "This is the reason I have chosen you as my adviser." He sighed. "You have never failed to tell me a truth that I do not want to hear."

* * *

Meg called to the Phantom from within his empty music room. "Erik? Are you there?" Just like in the passageway a week ago, she was greeted only by her own echoes. The sound of them made the space feel more lonely than she'd ever imagined it could. It was still Sunday and much earlier than they usually met. Meg wondered whether she should stay or return later. But just as she turned to leave, a voice barreled through the room.

"Have you decided to return to your teacher?"

Spinning around to find the source of his voice, she was unsure how to react; so she answered as honestly as possible. "I never truly left."

"HAH!" came his haughty laughter. "You mock me, mademoiselle." For a second time she felt like tiny creature of prey within a predator's domain.

Meg didn't understand why he would say such a thing. She had done everything that he had asked. "Tell me what you would have me do, and I will do it!" Meg implored, and was met with silence once again. An involuntary shiver wracked through her.

"I would have you dance." The Ghost sounded from directly behind her, sending her heart into her throat. Before she could even turn around, he had her firmly by the wrist; leading her to the studio with such long strides she had trouble keeping up.

"Your debut grows near, and enough time has been wasted." In a single fluid movement he swung her towards the center of the room and snatched up his violin.

"But Erik..."

"That's Maestro to you. Now dance!"

His words cut deep, but she did her best to stand tall and proud. Anger seeped crystal clear into the music as he began to play. They worked through the second act, and she did her best to obey the commands he barked at her. Slowly his fury seemed to thaw.

As Meg dropped her final pose, the Phantom spoke. His tone was gruff, but had lost its bite. "We still have a great deal of work to do." She nodded, preparing herself to begin again. "The critic arrives in only two day's time, and you need to be... What is that thing flopping about on your head?"

Meg touched her hair to find the delicate gold ribbon she'd received earlier that day. "Oh, it was a gift from Martine. Isn't it beautif- OW!" She yelped as the Phantom snatched up the ribbon and tossed it aside, taking a few strands of hair with it.

"Martine has offered you plenty of distraction on his own." He growled. "You do not need that _thing_ bouncing around, setting its own rhythm on your skull." The Phantom walked back to his place. "What a ridiculous present for a ballerina." He muttered, placing the violin on his shoulder. "AGAIN!"

His anger seemed to have returned twofold. It frightened her to risk angering him further, but she could not bring herself to take position. "Maestro, please!" Meg pleaded. "How have I so displeased you?"

"It is not you that displeases me. It is your lack of discipline!" He seethed, setting down his instrument. "You have not come to practice for nearly two weeks! I had hoped you cared something for your career."

Meg looked at him with confusion. "But... I thought that is what you wanted. You told me to give Martine more time!"

"Not ALL of it!" The Phantom bellowed, practically shaking with agitation as he stalked about. "Why have I put so much effort into training you, just so you can throw it all away for some rich banker?!"

Meg's confusion slowly turned to anger. "So what would you have of me, then? No man will marry a woman who can spend no time with him! Would you have me become a spinster?!" She was surprised to find herself shouting.

"That is not what I ask!" He yelled with an exasperated wave of his hand before turning away from her.

Meg was amazed at her own boldness as she circled around to confront him face-to-face. "It IS what you ask! But what man would want a woman who is already married to the Opera?!"

"I WOULD!"

The words had hardly left Erik's mouth before his entire body stiffened. This time when he turned away, she did not persist. It took a while for what he'd said to soak in.

"But... I thought... you said-"

"I lied." He admitted so quietly it was barely audible, leaning a hand against the wall.

Slowly the events of the past few weeks replayed themselves in her mind; this time from his point of view. "Why didn't you tell me?" Meg croaked. "Why did you turn me away?"

He bent farther away, hiding his face from her view. "Because there is no happy ending to be had here."

Meg could stand it no longer. She walked forward, pulling his arm to turn him around. "Why do you say such things?"

Reluctantly, Erik's silver eyes met hers. A sad smile crossed his lips as he reached up to stroke her cheek. "Oh Meg." He sighed. "Could you ever learn to love me as I am now?"

For an intense moment, they held each others gaze as what he was asking dawned on her. Finally Meg cupped her hands around his face, one on his cheek and one on the mask. "You deserve my whole heart... but my heart does not know how to love half of a man."

Erik's eyes flitted closed as if fighting back tears. He tried to turn his head away, but she held him fast.

"I have trusted you with my life." She insisted. "Now it is time for you to trust me. Please... let me love ALL of you."

His hands covered hers, pausing for a moment before pulling away from their embrace. "I cannot."

The room became painfully silent as Meg struggled to come to terms with everything that had been revealed.

"Then what are we to do?"

He took a deep breath before striding away to his violin. "What we have always done." He said, tucking it under his chin. "We dance."


	10. Wolf's Dance

Erik stepped back to admire his handiwork in one of his full-length mirrors. The sight that met his eyes was a completely different man. He was quite pleased with how splendidly the new gold-leafed mask hid any imperfections in the false beard and mustache. The mask was comprised of perfect miniature replicas of the the carvings that adorned the ceiling of the theatre. Tiny female forms draped playfully around his eyes and the line of his dark beard.

He wore a matching black wig that bore a hint of silver at the temples. It added just the right touch of wisdom to the man in the mirror. A thin layer of padding broadened his shoulders to offset the thicker layer that bulged over his belt through the red velvet waistcoat. And finally to tie it all together, a cape thrown over one shoulder. It too was made of red velvet and looked exactly like the drapery of the theatre curtain, complete with gold fringe and tassels.

Tonight, the Phantom WAS the opera house.

After one final inspection, Erik dashed off to the Manager's office. He pushed aside the painting and stepped in to find the Persian waiting for him.

"How do I look?" Erik asked in a strong, well practiced baritone, mimicking the Persian's accent.

The manger gaped at him. "My god, man. Is that really you?" He circled around to get a better look. "You have outdone yourself! You look like a pompous, self-absorbed royal. I LOVE IT!"

"So not entirely different than usual." The Phantom mused. "Well if everything is in order, then let us be off."

As they strode towards the main hall Erik held his head high, straightening up to let his new belly lead the way. They opened a set of double doors, and were immediately immersed in a chorus of song and dance. A flurry of excited whispers followed the pair as the walked through the room.

"Just remember..." The Persian advised quietly. "No matter what you do or say; apologize for nothing."

The Phantom let out a barreling laugh, causing several people around them to startle and setting off a fresh wave of whispers. "When have I ever?"

The Persian took that as his queue to begin making introductions. Erik did his best at small talk as he was showcased to wealthy patrons and supporters. All the while his eyes scanned the room for the one thing he cared about. It felt like an eternity before the object of his longing appeared, dressed in an elegant but simple baby blue gown. Erik wandered towards the railing of the stairs to get a better look, leaving a group of supporters to exchange disgruntled glances at his sudden departure. He hardly noticed.

Meg looked humble and yet captivating as she moved from group to group. It made him smile to see her wearing a plain white mask; the soft golden ringlets of her hair framed it perfectly. His grin faded as a dashing young figure took her arm. It was only moments before the little fop spotted Erik in the crowd, and was soon pulling Meg up to meet him.

"Have I heard correctly that you are the owner of this establishment?" The whelp asked as he stepped forward, leaving Meg abandoned in his shadow.

"And you are?" Erik all but growled.

"Martine Beaudet of Beaudet Banking. It is a pleasure to meet our largest client."

"And who is the ravishing beauty you have left in your wake?" Erik asked. Meg began to blush as the sniveling little banker fumbled over his words. To Erik's surprise, someone else interjected before either of them had a chance to speak.

"I see you have found the graceful Miss Giry!" The man spoke.

Erik scarcely had time to turn around before the Persian had scampered to his side to begin introductions. "Ah, Monsieur Lazard! Please meet Sattar Soroush, the sole proprietor of the Paris Opera. Monsieur Soroush, this is Denis Lazard... the art critic."

"Welcome to our humble opera house." Erik said with a slight bow.

"Humble indeed!" Replied the critic. "What a marvelous design. The acoustics are phenomenal, while the ambiance leaves nothing to be desired. And such a splendid gala!"

"I hope you enjoyed the performance equally." Baited Erik.

"Ah yes, the performance." Sighed the critic. "The singing was wonderful, and as expected, your ballet is unmatched. But on that note, there is one thing I feel must be remedied. You may as well hear it from me now, rather than in tomorrow's paper." Denis gestured to Meg. "Miss Giry here, a mere chorus girl, stole the second act. She has a certain... je ne sais quoi that I can not put my finger on."

"Is that so?" Erik excaimed, blessing his good fortune. He could not have planned the conversation better if he'd tried. "Do we have a rising star in our midst?"

"Who could expect any less from the daughter of the famous Antoinette Giry?" The critic enthused, causing Meg's blush to deepen. Martine glanced uncomfortably around the conversation as the two men ignored him. Erik would have happily continued to do so, but as the little whelp tangled a posessive arm in one of Meg's, his blood boiled.

"You seem quite out of place, young Marius. These are matters of heart, not finance. You may take your leave."

"Martine." He corrected. "My name is Martine-"

"Yes yes. Very interesting, Marius." The Phantom dismissed, taking personal pleasure in the banker's crestfallen expression. "Now please leave us. We have matters to discuss that I am certain you know little about."

Martine began to slink away, dragging Meg along; but Erik seized her other arm and pulled her back. The two men glared at each other for several intense seconds. Then Martine begrudgingly withdrew and stormed off through the crowd.

The critic was unphased, and continued to sing her praises. "We can be sure to see great things from her. I mean no disrespect, but you would be an imbecil not to showcase her as the lead. Your audience demands her!"

"Is that so?" The Phantom mused. "An imbecil, you say?" He turned to the Persian with the tiniest smirk creeping across his lips. "Why has this not been remedied? As my manager, I expect you to do what is best for business!"

"My deepest apologies. It had not been brought to my attention." The Persian bowed in mock apology. "Should I make an announcement of her promotion tonight?"

"NO!" Shouted Meg, taking them all by surprise. It was the first time she had spoken since the conversation began. "Please... I thank you all for such wonderful compliments. I deserve no such attention. But if that is an announcement you must make, I would prefer be made without spectacle."

Erik could't help himself. "Such humility from an extroardinary talent!" He extended an arm to her. "Might I have the honor of a dance with the blushing star?"

She hesitated, glancing at both the Persain and the critic before accepting it. Without hesitation, Erik whisked her away to the dance floor. Tucking a hand around her waist, he spoke quietly in her ear. "You must be my retreat for a time. I do not want people getting too friendly."

"Monsieur?" She asked, looking rather uncomfortable as they began to waltz. "I do not understand."

He chuckled, dropping his eastern accent. "Have you so quickly forgotten your Maestro?"

Meg's waltz faltered. "Erik?" She cast a nervous glance around the room before meeting his eyes. "Are you mad? You'll be caught!"

"A risk I am willing to take." He whispered with a smile. "Did you think I would miss your special day?"

"This is a dangerous game to play just to get what you want!" Meg hissed. "What if the real owner had come?"

The notion of telling her that he _was_ the new owner crossed his mind; but now hardly seemed the time for such a conversation. "I have my tricks." Erik dodged.

"You'd better. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you on my account." The two continued to dance around the room before she quietly asked. "Did you have to be so cruel to Martine? He really is a nice man."

"You know my nature as well as anyone." The Phantom said as he turned her around. Pulling her back into him, their masks almost touched as he cooed in her ear. "The way he tried to take you from me, its lucky I didn't kill him. A wolf is still a wolf after all; even in fancy dress." With a great flourish, Erik spun her away. Meg twirled around gracefully despite the obvious worry that showed from behind her mask.

He moved forward to collect her. but just as he was about to reach out for her tiny hand, the ever-persistent Martine swooped in and took Erik's place. He looked over his shoulder with a triumphant sneer, stealing her through the crowd and far out of Erik's reach.


	11. Masquerade

"The nerve of that Persian!" Martine seethed as he danced her away. "Could he not see how unhappy you were? It was clear as day! I have half a mind to go and exchange words with him!"

"Please don't!" Meg begged. "He is the owner of the opera!"

"That does not give him the right to put his filthy hands all over my lady!" He spat.

"He is from the East. Their customs are probably different than ours!" She insisted with a squeeze of his hand. "Please, do not make a fuss. I am fine."

Martine's anger seemed to fade a bit. "Well... he can speak like a Frenchman, so it is about time he learned to act like one."

Meg worried that by the end of the night, the two would be at each others' throats. As Martine spun her under his arm, she searched for Erik in the crowd. What she saw instead made her heart sink.

One of the dancers stood whispering into another dancer's ear. Meg had a terrible suspicion that Leanna was in the midst of getting a painful update. The second girl pulled off her mask, as if she was no longer in the mood for festivities. Just as Meg suspected, it was Leanna. For a fleeting second, their eyes met from across the room, before Leanna turned on her heels and ran out of the main hall. Meg cursed to herself before running after her, leaving Martine standing clueless on the dance floor.

Meg searched room after room, trying to figure out where she had gone. She finally found her in the bedroom designated to the lead dancer. The door was open, and Leanna was haphazardly throwing her belongings into a large trunk. Meg stood in the doorway, unsure of what to say.

"I'm... sorry. She stammered. "You don't have to move out. You can keep the room if you want."

Leanna let out a heavy sigh as she closed the trunk and plopped down on top of it. "No, you should have it. You've earned it."

Meg was relieved to be met with something other than anger. She sat down next to Leanna, taking her hands. "Really, I don't mind if you want to stay..."

Leanna looked at her with sad eyes. "That is very kind, but no. I have been expecting this since before the opera closed. It should have been yours even then." She gave Meg a sly smile. "But can you blame me for wanting to hold on to it a bit longer?"

"No." Answered Meg quietly.

The sound of running echoed down the empty hall. Meg turned to see Martine nearly sprint past the open door. Both women jumped to their feet as he skidded to a stop.

"There you are!" He said. "Where did you run off to in such a hurry?"

"I can explain later." Meg dismissed, watching as Leanna began to try and drag the enormous trunk away; making an inch-worth of progress with every tug. "Would you mind terribly helping with her luggage?"

Martine glanced back and forth between the girls with confusion before giving a nod. "Of course."

He tried to pick it up, but had little success. "My god, woman! Is it filled with bricks?" After a few attempts, he relented and simply drug it out the door. Meg sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh, removing her mask and setting it on the nightstand. She knew it would be difficult trying to fall asleep without the sound of the other girls around. She'd only ever slept alone a few times in her life, and they were sleepless nights.

Soon she heard Martine return. Closing the door behind him, he wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow. "I have met grown men that weigh less than that trunk." He said, sitting down on the bed next to her. "Leanna told me that this is your room now."

"It is." Meg admitted as she glanced around. "It is very... big."

"You will grow accustomed to it soon enough." He assured her, cupping her cheek with his palm and running his thumb over her mouth. With his mask still on, it was all too easy for her to pretend that he was someone else. "Besides, now we have somewhere to be alone."

Hungry lips replaced the thumb as Martine's hand moved to lace around the back of her neck, forcefully pulling her to him. The intimacy was inviting after such a long evening, and Meg found herself returning the affection. His hands moved down her arms before finding purchase around her ribcage, urging her deeper into their embrace. He began to kiss down her neck, teeth nipping at her skin as he went.

As she turned her head to expose her neck, her eyes fell on the full-length mirror mounted to the wall. Images of the Phantom standing just behind it danced in her mind. A gasp escaped her as she realized what she was doing. She tore herself away, jumping off the bed.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"I'm sorry, but this is not what I want." She told him, wrapping her arms around herself.

He looked at her with confusion. "Have I done something to offend?"

"No." Meg assured him. "You have not offended me. But... I have come to realize that my heart lies elsewhere. I'm sorry, but I cannot see you any more."

Martine went painfully silent. Several times his mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. Finally he found the words.

"After all this time? After all I've given you?"

"I'm sorry!" Meg pleaded apologetically. "I had no intentions of leading you astray." The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him, but knew it would be worse the longer she waited. "Please, forgive me!" She pleaded, tears of guilt threatening to spill over. To her surprise, he lept off the bed, encapsulating her in his arms.

"Shhh, its alright." He soothed, hugging her close. "I understand."

For a spit second, Meg doubted her decision to send him away. She looked up at him, searching his face. He smiled down at her, but there was something in that smile made her uneasy.

"You do?" She asked.

"Yes, of course I understand." He said with a soft chuckle, his arms growing rigid as steel around her. "I just don't care."

Meg's brow furrowed as the sickly feeling in her stomach turned into panic. She struggled in an effort to break their embrace, but he only held her tighter.


	12. Hindsight

Meg had been gone for far too long.

Erik had watched her run off, shortly followed by Martine. Logic told him what might be delaying Meg's return. Logic also told him to let the couple enjoy their time together in private. But as the minutes ticked by, a sinking feeling crept into his gut that he could not dismiss as jealousy. Making up his mind, he parted his way through the crowd.

To his frustration, an older gentleman stepped into his path just as he neared the exit. "Ah, you must be Monsieur... erm, Sorro... Soru... Sorrish?" The man bumbled.

"Soroush!" Erik snapped, trying to cut past him; but the man did not budge.

"Yes, right. Well I am Martine Beaudet Senior. I see you have already met my son. I hope he was well behaved."

Erik glanced at him with half-interested curiosity. "Should I expect any different?"

"No no, I simply worry sometimes. He can be a bit impetuous, and I wouldn't want him making a poor impression."

Martine Senior prattled on, despite the fact that Erik was hardly listening. "Although I must say, my son's attendance tonight should be proof of the wonders of your establishment. When you re-opened the opera, I nearly had to force him into the carriage to attend opening night. He was dead set against it. Takes after his mother, you see. She never liked the arts. But I insisted that he show an interest in our best clients. And now it seems your theatre has stolen his heart. I can hardly tear him away!"

"How interesting." Erik drawled, though quite obviously uninterested. "Yes, well your patronage is greatly appreciated. Now if you will excuse me, I am due for the Americas tomorrow and must prepare."

With a sigh of relief, Erik was finally able to cut past Martine Senior. "Good evening, Monsieur!" He yelled over his shoulder as the double doors closed behind him.

Once away from prying eyes, Erik ducked into one of his many secret passages. He raced through the narrow tunnels, tearing off his guise as he went. False whiskers and stuffing littered his path as he went in search of his dancing angel. The cumbersome golden mask was the last thing to fall as he replaced it with familiar white porcelain.


	13. Truths of the Heart

**Warning:**

**This scene contains themes of violence, sexual activity and non-consent. If these topics may disturb you, I recommend skipping to the next chapter.**

* * *

"Let me go!" Meg cried, fighting to push him away; but Martine held her fast.

"You know... I had half a mind to make you my wife. I thought that you would be content to marry a wealthy gentleman." He mused as if oblivious to her struggles. "But if a gentleman is not what you want, then so be it!"

Without warning he let her go, and the force of her struggles nearly sent her toppling backwards.

"Leave now, or I'll scream!" Meg threatened as she regained her footing, painfully aware of the less-than-intimidating quiver in her voice.

"Is that so?" Martine scoffed. In a flash his fist moved through the air, hitting her in the stomach so hard that she could scarcely breath. She had no time to recover before he backhanded her across the cheek with enough force to spin her around. Meg crumpled the floor, her vision tunneling as she fought for consciousness. She was only vaguely aware of her surroundings as Martine began to tear her dress into shreds. Somewhere far in the distance of her mind, she heard him speak.

"You little mynx. I visit you every day. I give you gift after gift. And for what? A few stolen kisses? Did you honestly think that after everything I've given you, you could just cast me aside?"

Her vision began to clear as the tips of his boots appeared under her nose, so close she could smell the musk of dirt and leather.

"Don't worry, Mon Cherie." Martine said as if to comfort her. "I can forgive."

His tone dropped to a sinister purr. "Besides... once I've had my fill, no other man will want you."

Meg yelped as he clamped his fingers onto her sore cheeks, forcing her mouth open. A piece of cloth was shoved in. Before she had time to spit it out, another baby blue strip was drawn between her lips like a horse's bit and tied behind her head. Her fingers clawed the carpet as she tried to crawl away, but Martine's hand tangled in her hair. With a terrible yank he flipped her on her back, seizing her wrists as she tried to fight him off.

It took only moments for him to bind her arms to the foot of the bed. She tried desperately to kick him away, but it was fruitless. Before she knew what was happening, he was between her legs; his knees pressing painfully into her thighs to spread them far apart.

Meg tried to suppress a sob as Martine's gruff hand found its way into her bloomers. Desperately she tried to close her legs, but he held them wide open as he explored. A finger grazed over her sensitive nub, making her jolt. She shook her head back and fourth, pleading with her eyes for him to stop.

"Quit your whining." He hissed as his fingers found her delicate opening. "I've earned this sweet little rosebud, and you know it."

Meg screamed behind the gag as he cruelly thrust them inside of her.

His eyes closed, a contented smile spreading across his lips as he began to feel around her unready passage. "You had better loosen up, Cherie." He said as his free hand moved to massage the growing bulge in his pants. "Or the real thing is going to hurt much more."

A sickening thud reverberated through the room.

Martine lurched forward, eyes growing wide. His hand pulled out of her and moved to clutch his head. Meg watched in shock as a trickle of blood flowed through his fingers and trailed a path down his forehead.


	14. Truths of the Heart Cont

The candlestick Erik held fell to the ground with a clank. He saw Meg's wild eyes as she watched Martine crumple to the floor. Erik should have been happy to see the little whelp fall unconscious at his feet, but all he could think about was making sure Meg was safe.

For a moment she grew frighteningly calm. Her line of sight fell on Erik's shoes and then traveled up his torso. As their eyes met, her body began to shake with silent sobs. He ran to kneel by her side, loosening the gag and sliding it around her neck. His fingers slipped on the crude knots that bound her wrists.

When the bindings finally fell free, she dove into him; burying her face in his chest. He cocooned her in his arms so tightly it was a wonder that she could breath.

And so they stayed, her tiny frame trembling within his hold.

"Oh, my sweet little Meg." Erik murmered with a cheek against her head. "This is a pain I do not know how to soothe."

She said nothing; but after a few minutes her sobs began to abate.

"I trusted him." She sniffled in his arms. "I thought I knew him, but it was all a lie."

Erik buried his face deeper in her hair. If only he'd found her sooner. If only he hadn't let Martine steal her away on the dance floor. His mind screamed at him a thousand reasons why this was all his fault. "I'm sorry, my love. I'm so very sorry."

"... my love..." Meg echoed back, but the words were hollow and emotionless. Limb by limb, she unfolded from his embrace. She seemed lost in thought, speaking slowly as if grasping at the words. "I trusted him and he betrayed me. I trust you... but you hide the truth from me. Is there no one I can have faith in?"

"You can trust me, Meg." Erik swore to her, enveloping her limp hands in his. "I would never harm you."

Her weary eyes flitted to meet his. "Show me then. Let me know the truth."

Erik's pulse thrummed nervously in his throat, but he did his best not to look away. "You have already experienced one horror tonight. Why do you want to subject yourself to another?"

She looked at him pleadingly, and offered the one debate he could not argue. "Please..."

Every facet of his psyche yelled at him to walk away. It told him that no good would come of this. It reminded him that no one had ever been able to accept what he truly was. And yet his heart insisted foolishly that this time could be different.

With a sigh that held the hurt of an entire lifetime, Erik raised one of Meg's hands. He brought it up to cup his porcelain cheek, gently guiding her fingers under the edge of the mask.

Together they slowly raised the white veil.

Every second passed as a separate eternity in Erik's mind as she beheld everything that he was. He watched as a fresh wave of tears crested on the oceans of her aqua eyes.

"Thank you." She breathed, almost too quietly to hear.

In the distance, a muffled voice spoke from behind the closed door. "Meg? Are you alright? I heard strange noises." Meg gasped and spun around to face it.

Erik heard the sound of the knob turning. He seized his mask and darted for the mirror. It closed behind him just as Meg's friend Annette stepped into the room. He watched through the one-way glass as she nearly slipped on the giant pool of blood that haloed Martine's ashen face.

As he ran down the corridor to the Persian's office, Annette's hysterical scream followed.


	15. Out of the Ashes

Meg watched in a numb stupor as the room buzzed with activity. Annette wrapped a blanket around Meg's body to hide what what her tattered gown no longer covered. Two stage-hands carried Martine's limp form out of the room as the manager tried his best to hold the crowd at bay beyond the door's threshold.

With feeble dismay, Meg realized that this was no more than a human exhibit in which she was the sole inhabitant. The manager's outstretched arms made up the bars of her cage. Inquisitive eyes peered in over them, their owners whispering behind open palms as they fought to witness her misfortune. The curious attention of the crowd made Meg's skin crawl. She was too numb, too exhausted to be the ballerina on stage for them. All she wanted was a safe, familiar place.

It seemed like an eternity before the door finally closed, shutting out the noise of the crowd. She looked up to find a police inspector standing before her. At that moment she was thankful for Annette, who sat dabbing her sore cheek with a damp cloth.

I'm sorry Miss Giry, but I need to know what happened." The inspector prompted without so much as an introduction.

"Monsieur, I am very tired." She said. "Can we discuss this at another time?"

"I'm afraid not." He insisted as he moved towards her. "But I promise, I will be brief."

With sigh and a weary heart, Meg recounted the evening as the inspector examined the bruises on her wrists and face. When it came to the point where Erik had saved her, she faltered.

"Then... I... broke free." She lied. "He chased after me, and I hit him with a candlestick."

The inspector nodded, a hand on his chin as if deep in thought.

"Am I to understand that as you ran for the door... and with obvious ill-intent, he made chase?" He asked. "So you defended yourself?"

"That's correct, Monsieur."

He looked at her with an inquisitive expression. "Then how is it that Monsieur Beaudet ended up with a blow to the _back_ of his head? If he was coming towards you, shouldn't it be in the front?"

Meg gaped at him, her mouth falling open despite having no explanation to come out of it.

"Inspector, please!" The Persian interrupted nervously as he stepped out of the shadows. "Miss Giry has been through a great deal. Any further questions can surely be held for another time!"

The inspector held up a stern hand to silence him. "I'd really rather she answer them now. The son of one of the wealthiest men in Paris has been assaulted, and I would like to hear about it before stories have a chance to change." He looked back to Meg. "Now... as you were saying?"

Meg fumbled to think of an explanation. "Well I... you see, after he-"

To her surprise, Annette's petite voice cut her off.

"It's alright, Meg." She said, squeezing one of Meg's hands. "You don't need to protect me any longer." As the two girls looked at each other, a thousand thoughts and emotions passing between them in that brief glance. With a strength that Meg couldn't help but admire, Annette stood and faced the inspector with her chin held high.

"It was I that struck him." She bluffed. "I came in, and when I saw what he was doing, I hit him with the first thing I could find."

The inspector studied her with keen eyes. "And why did you two conspire to hide such a detail?"

This time it was Meg that interjected. "Monsieur, please understand. Annette has just debuted as a dancer here. Such a scandal could end her career before it has even begun. I implore you to keep that part of the story confidential. This terrible day needn't have any more victims."

The two girls held their breath as his careful scrutiny passed back and forth between them.

"Very well." He said finally, standing to exit the room. "I've heard enough. Good evening, ladies. Thank you both for your time."

As soon as the door closed behind him, all three of the room's occupants shared a sigh of relief. After a moment, the Persian turned to Meg.

"Miss Giry, you are most likely very tired." He glanced at the blood-soaked carpet. "I trust that you would rather sleep somewhere else tonight. If you like, you can sleep in my room and I will find somewhere else to retire."

"Thank you, but no." She said. "I would rather be somewhere more familiar. If it is quite alright, I would prefer the dancer's dormitories."

He responded with a bow. "As you wish, Mademoiselle. And I promise that within a few days, we will have this room as good as new." With a final bob, he tucked out of the room.

Meg was so tired she could hardly stand on her own. Annette helped her off the bed, both of them taking special care not to slip on the mess Martine had left behind as they headed for the dormitories.

o~o~o~o

o~o~o~o o~o~o~o o~o~o~o o~o~o~o o~o~o~o

o~o~o~o

The dorm was empty when Meg awoke the next morning. As she lay in bed her mind played through the events of the night before. It was more like watching someone else's life than her own. The seemingly sweet, handsome Martine had tried to take her against her will. His personality had changed so quickly, it was like... taking off a mask.

_'...once I've had my fill, no other man will want you.'_

A cold, clammy sweat washed over her face as his words floated back to her. The realization that he'd had every intention of seriously hurting her suddenly made it all very real. Meg wondered what she had done to deserve such wrath.

_'...after everything I've given you, did you think you could toss me aside?'_

A sickening feeling invaded her stomach.

Had she brought this upon herself? Could she be to blame for what he'd tried to do? For his death? Meg wrapped her head in her pillow, as if to shield her mind from the horrifying thought; but it persisted. _Yes, _it said.

It told her that she'd given him every reason to think he owned her heart. She'd strung him along and then rejected him without even an explanation.

The voice of reason chimed in, pointing out that he'd meant to harm or possibly even kill her. It insisted that he had taken advantage of her trust. As Meg's anger towards Martine began to mount, the other voice reminded her that it was her fault for lying to him about how she felt. The two thoughts began to war back and forth until she wanted to shout 'ENOUGH!'

As her heart grew heavy with guilt and confusion, she longed to feel the safety of Erik's arms again. Meg closed her eyes, reliving the way he'd held her tight; as if he meant to squeeze out all the pain. And then he'd given her the thing she wanted most of all; his trust.

Meg bolted upright. Panic began to rear its ugly head as she remembered her reaction to seeing his face. She hadn't had time to tell him how she felt. If only there had been a moment to explain that her tears were not ones of fear or sadness, but of gratitude and relief. She had prepared herself for so much worse; having conjured the most horrific of possibilities as to what lay hidden behind the sliver of white. The reality of it could not hold a candle to her imaginings, and paled in comparison to the brutality she had just endured.

Meg had no doubts that Erik would have interpreted her tears in the worst possible light. Her legs hardly had time to get their bearings before she was hastily throwing her dressing robe over her nightgown. In seconds she was rushing towards the underground. With hardly a hesitation through the labyrinth of passages, she found her way to his music room. Erik sat in one of his chairs, a hand on his temple as if he had been lost in thought. As she approached he jumped to his feet with a worried expression.

"Meg. I hadn't expected to see you."

He rushed to her, laying his hands on her arms. "How are you feeling? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." She answered. "Better than expected. Martine succeeded in very little. You saw to that."

Erik looked away as if he had grown uncomfortable. "Yes, and I'm... sorry." The words came out as if they had a foul taste. "I had no intention of putting you through more of an ordeal."

"It could have been so much worse!" Meg insisted. "But you saved me. It is I that should apologize. Its my fault that he..."

Guilt set in again, and her voice trailed off as she lost all interest in finishing the sentence.

"Oh?" Erik stared at her before letting out a snort of incredulous laughter. "Please, entertain me with how this could be your fault."

"Its not funny!" She cried. "I let him think that I could love him! I let him give me gifts and dote on me for nothing!"

Erik cocked his head to the side as if considering her argument.

"I see." He said as the hold on her arms tightened. "So that is all it takes to buy the rights to your body?"

She began to protest his question, but he interrupted her. "Then what of me?" He lulled as he held her firm, moving so close that their bodies were nearly touching. "I built you a dance studio with my own two hands. I gifted you a room in my home. And I have given you something that no other man could; the love of all of Paris."

Meg knew she should be frightened, but as his breath danced across her lips, something stirred warm inside her. A part of her wanted to feel his punishing hands on her flesh; as if they might tear away her guilt.

"So what has that earned me?" He asked, bending down and forcing Meg to meet his gaze.

Deep down, she knew what he wanted to hear; but she could not bring herself to say it. "But..."

"Nothing!" Erik barked, giving her shoulders a fierce shake. "It has earned me nothing, Meg! And it earned him no more! You did nothing to deserve what happened. Nothing. The sooner you get that through your head, the safer you will be."

Erik's hands seemed to peel reluctantly off of her as he moved away. "Thankfully I already learned that lesson, or you might have had _two _wolves nipping at your heels."

He draped himself across his chair, dangling a leg over its arm like a black panther lounging in a tree. "It took four long years and two voyages across the ocean for me to learn it, but at least _I_ had an excuse." With open palms, he gestured to the room around them. "I spent most of my life living in a cave."

Try as she might, Meg could not read his emotions. He looked both sinister and dashing as he observed her with keen eyes. Another warm twinge shot through her stomach. The room grew silent. Meg found herself unable to speak, rooted to the spot as she watched him watching her.

"You still haven't said to what I owe this visit." He finally asked, jolting her out of her stupor.

"Oh! Yes, of course. I wanted to tell you-" She started, suddenly unsure how to say what she wanted to. "Well, after what happened last night and... what you showed me..."

Erik's body tensed. "You don't need to explain." He interrupted with a wave of his hand. "I understand."

Glancing away as if it was too painful to look at her, he continued. "As I said before, you owe me nothing. Say the word, and our time together will be at an end."

Meg's heart skipped a terrified beat. "N-no!" She stammered, running to kneel before him. "Please, don't say such things!"

A tiny smile crossed Erik's lips as he looked at her, but it did not reach his eyes. "It is best that way." He said, running a palm over her cheek. "Try as I might, I cannot keep my hands off of you."

His hand began to fall away, but she held it in place. "Then don't."

Erik's jaw visibly tightened, making his words come out in a hiss. "Do NOT tempt me. You are treading on dangerous grounds. If you aren't careful, you will find this demonic face too close for comfort."

He tried to look away again, but Meg grasped his cheeks.

"Erik, please listen!" She insisted, forcing him to look her in the eye. "When I saw you last night, you did not appear to me as an angel... or a devil." She paused, finding the right words. "Behind that mask, I saw only the face of a man."

As his silver eyes regarded her with worry, she dug up the courage to speak her heart.

"I saw only the face of the man I love."

Slowly his guarded expression began to falter. The corners of his mouth twitched downward as something between a sigh and a moan escaped his throat. The next thing she knew she was in Erik's arms, his lips pressing urgently into hers.


	16. Crescendo

**Warning: If the thought of steamy couplings between masked men and fair-haired virgins offends you, skip ahead to the next chapter. Although if it does, goodness only knows how you've made it this far.**

* * *

The floodgates had opened, and it was all Erik could do to keep the tides of his desire from rising perilously high.

Meg was here in his arms, without bribe or blackmail, telling him that she loved him. That thought alone almost sent him spiraling off the edge of self-control. With a growling breath, he wrapped a rough hand around the scruff of her neck and pulled her mouth deeper into his. It was not a request, but a demand. His tongue sought to find hers, desperate to taste everything he had been denying himself for so long.

She moved as if to pull away but he held her tighter. As their mouths danced together in a feverish embrace, Meg slowly relaxed into his arms. Soon her demanding nearly matched his own. Her warm, lithe figure pressed against his; the open robe and thin nightgown providing little protection as his hands explored the soft contours of her form.

Erik's palm found her cotton-veiled breast. As he ran his fingers across the peak of her nipple through the thin fabric, Meg gasped into his mouth. Erik tried to remain gentle, but the barrier of linen felt like shards of glass compared to the softness of her skin. He desperately needed more of her.

With heated urgency Erik grasped at the hem of her shift, and in one swift yank, tore it halfway down the center. Meg broke their kiss with a yelp, her hands leaping to cover her bare chest. A blush further colored her already rosy cheeks.

Seeing her look of worry, he paused. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." Meg exhaled without hesitation.

"Enough for this?' He continued, wrapping his fingers around her wrists to coax them from her bust.

She closed her eyes and let out a single ragged breath before letting him pull her hands away. The sight of Meg exposing her perfect breasts to him sent a wave of white-hot arousal coursing through his veins. With a throaty growl he enveloped one of the tightened pink nubs in his mouth. Her body tensed in his arms, as if she were unsure of how to react. But as he sucked greedily at the puckered flesh, her breathing became fast and erratic. Both of her little hands wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling him wantonly into her bosom.

"That's right." He purred against her skin. "Give in to the flames of your desire."

Erik grazed his teeth over her nipple before switching to its lonely mate. Meg let out a savory moan that made his manhood throb within the confines of his breeches. Her hips seemed to move of their own volition, pressing against his body as if driven by sheer impulse.

"Please! Have mercy!" She huffed. "I want you so badly, I think I might... burst."

He paused, letting his mind fully absorb her words. They were words he'd thought he was doomed to never hear.

In one fluid motion Erik scooped Meg into his arms and reversed their positions, placing her on the chair.

"Say it again." He demanded, kneeling to wedge his body between her legs. "Let me hear it again."

Meg looked at him with a shy smile, her voice hardly a whisper. "I want you."

The words were hardly out of her mouth before he claimed her lips in a fiery kiss, pressing his body to hers. She met his advances with enthusiasm. But as Erik ground his hips into hers, letting her feel his caged erection for the first time, a whimper was her reply. Two hands on his chest pushed him away. When he looked down, her eyes were wide.

"Erik... I'm frightened." She confided. "I've heard that it hurts."

A wicked part of him thought about lying; but he knew that no good would come of it. "Only the first time." He soothed, swooping down to murmur in her ear. "And I have no intentions of setting you free until I'm certain you've enjoyed yourself."

The worry etched in her brow began to fade. With all the gentleness Erik could muster, he pushed Meg's robe off her shoulders and down her arms, letting it drape across the chair beneath them. Meg bit her lip but did not protest as he lifted her torn chemise over her head.

His breath caught in his throat as the entirety of her bewitching form came into view. A little hiccup of surprise escaped her as his manhood twitched hard as stone against her naked sex.

"My God. You are so beautiful." He crooned, trailing eager kisses down between the swell of her breasts. "It should be a crime to hide such art."

Erik continued to nip and kiss his way down her stomach before finally setting his gaze on the prize he'd wanted for so long. In a moment of renewed modesty, Meg tried to cover her secret spot; but he deftly batted her hand away. His blood nearly boiled over with desire as he saw what she was trying to hide.

She was dripping wet.

Erik had no intention of denying himself any part of her. That time was long gone. Grasping the insides of her thighs, he urged them further apart. As his hot breath hit her sensitive folds, she bolted upright in alarm.

What are you-" Meg started, but the last word transformed into a gasp as he took her in his mouth. "Oh God..." She whimpered. Her fingers twined in his hair as he ran his tongue up her taut slit and circled around the swollen nub.

Meg's soft, feminine taste was incredibly intoxicating; like honeysuckle and tears. Her breathing grew more rapid as he greedily ravaged her tender flesh. Every pant and sigh was like a note in a song that Erik was writing through her. As her legs began to shake, he knew that the apex of her sonnet grew near. A part of him wanted to delay the moment and enjoy her enchanting music a bit longer. But as his arousal begged painfully for its own release, he knew that to wait would stretch beyond his powers of self-control.

Meg suddenly grew silent as if holding her breath. Her hands wrapped around the back of his head, back arching into his mouth. Erik fed from her mercilessly until she finally erupted in a divine crescendo. It rang out through the room, more beautiful to his ears than any concerto he'd ever written.

Her release came not a moment too quickly. Erik was certain that he would go mad if he didn't take her soon. Meg's body still squirmed in the throws of her climax as he snatched her up in his arms.

He whisked her through the cavernous halls of his home, cursing himself for building his bedroom so far away. It felt like an eternity before his swift legs made it past the threshold with his precious cargo. Erik deposited her on the bed before feverishly stripping off his shirt and moving on to the mass of buttons that locked him into his trousers. As Erik finally cast them away, he watched as Meg took in the sight of his naked body. Her eyes grew wide as their gaze fell on the stiff shaft that had grown to reach his belly button. With an audible swallow, she backed away on the bed.

For a heart-stopping second, Erik thought she might run. But she held strong, meeting his gaze with a mix of fear and arousal.

"Will you not let me see all of you?" Meg asked. He paused in confusion before laying a hand on his porcelain mask as her meaning became clear. The thought of Meg having to stare into his monstrous face as she lost her virginity was unacceptable to him.

"Next time." Erik whispered as he climbed onto the bed, parting her legs to position himself between them. As he settled his body over hers, he looked into her eyes and gave her a soft kiss

"P-promise?" Meg asked, nervousness trickling into her voice as she searched his face.

"I promise" He assured her with another kiss.

The warmth of her body called to him. He answered it by running the length of his shaft up her slippery sex. The enticing sound she made in response was something between a moan and a whimper.

Erik let out a rumbling groan of his own as he drew her gruffly into his arms. He positioned himself at her entrance, parting her nether lips. The fiery heat of her core threatened to send him back towards the edge of self-control.

"Tell me again." He growled in her ear as every nerve in his body screamed to be inside her.

"I want you." She whispered back. "Now and always."

That was all Erik could take. He seized Meg's lips in a punishing kiss as the last of his restraint shattered. With a single merciless thrust, he drove inside her. Meg cried out into his mouth as he tore through her maidenhead.

Erik moaned with raw, guilty pleasure as her tight passage clenched in alarm around him. He broke their kiss, fighting tooth and nail against the overwhelming desire to continue without pity. When he looked into her eyes, the twinge of pain showed clear as day.

"Say the word and I'll stop." Erik told her, although he seriously doubted that was possible. He prayed that she would not call his bluff.

"No." Meg answered. "Please don't."

"Oh thank God." Erik breathed. Without a second's hesitation, he pulled out and then buried himself deep inside her a second time. He began a slow rhythm, relishing the way she gradually relaxed to accommodate him. The delectable feel of her only made him crave more, and soon his tempo began to mount.

As his thrusts became more urgent, the hurt in Meg's face began to melt away. She let out a heady pant, and then another. Savage satisfaction grew in him with every noise she made. Eventually her eyes flitted closed, head falling back as she arched into him. Erik wrapped her legs around his waist to drive deeper inside her.

Meg's pants turned into moans as he pounded into her with desperate, unforgiving strokes. She grasped frantically at his back, fingernails digging into the flesh. Her legs synched down on his waist as she rode against his hips.

The electric sensation of their coupling spread like wildfire through Erik's limbs. For a second time Meg cried out; but this time it was a cry of pleasure. The velvety walls of her channel clamped down around him as she came. It took only seconds for the exquisite sensation to send him toppling over the edge. With a final piercing thrust he erupted, filling her with his seed.

They were both breathing heavy as Erik rolled onto his back, pulling Meg to him. He hugged her tightly and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. As she nestled contentedly into the crook of his arm, he had a million things he wanted to say to her. But as Meg rubbed a soft hand over his chest, he was instantly asleep.


	17. Persia

Meg could not suppress a smile as the fearsome and elusive Opera Ghost napped peacefully beneath her head. He had been asleep for nearly fifteen minutes, still wearing his mask. She couldn't help but wonder if he always slept with it on. The hard surface looked far from comfortable.

Stirring Erik as little as possible, she rose off his chest. With delicate fingers, she lifted the mask from his face to reveal the marred and disfigured flesh beneath. It was a sight that should have caused her to recoil; but instead it was like a secret part of him that he trusted only to her. In that way it was beautiful. She touched his distorted cheek with a tentative hand, testing the way it felt under her fingertips.

As her fingers ran across the ridges of his scarred skin, Erik began to stir. Meg hid the mask behind her just as his eyes slowly opened. He focused on her face, and for a split second his brow furrowed. But quickly the look of confusion turned into a quirky little half-smirk that made her heart melt.

"I thought this was another dream." He said blearily before propping himself up on an elbow to look at her.

"If it is, let me never wake." She replied with a warm smile. As Erik swooped down to steal a kiss, she wrapped a hand around his unveiled cheek. As soon as her palm touched him, his entire body solidified like a steel rod.

Meg watched him bolt upright, gripping his face to hide himself. A swift hand began rifling through the bedsheets.

"Looking for this?" She asked, holding up the slip of ivory. She knew it would most likely ignite his rage, but she didn't care. She wanted him to learn to be comfortable around her without it.

To her surprise and dread, he only looked at her with a tinge of sadness.

"This is the second time you've decided to steal the monster's face." Erik lamented, still covering half his features. "Why do you torment me so?"

Her heart wrenched at his words, but she held to her convictions. He moved to take the mask from her, and Meg snapped her arm back behind her shoulder, holding it away. He leaned farther in; their noses were nearly touching as she reached up to grasp the hand that covered him. With a gentle pull, she moved to coax it away from his face.

"I am here with you." She said, looking into his silvery eyes. "ALL of you. No second thoughts."

Erik hesitated for several moments before reluctantly letting her pull the hand away from his profile.

"Trust in that, and maybe some day your scars will begin to heal."

His eyes skirted away, another twinge of pain traveling over his expression. "They cannot heal. I have had them since birth."

Her soft chuckle drew his conflicted gaze back to her.

"Not these scars." Meg placed a tender kiss on his ruffled cheek. "I mean the ones here." Her hand fell to cover his heart.

As he looked at her with a slow understanding, there was a moment of realization in their shared glance; indescribable in significance and yet so palpable it was as though it etched itself in the expanse of time. For several long seconds his emotions were utterly unreadable; but a shaky, quivering smile swept across his lips. The mask dropped forgotten from Meg's hand as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her body on top of his.

"You amaze me." Erik said, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "You have a way of looking at me that makes me feel... whole."

"You _are_ whole." She answered, running a hand through his hair. "You are brilliant, mysterious, talented, passionate, brave, generous... To ask the heavens for any more virtues would be unfair to the world."

Erik's arms tightened around her as he pushed forward to bind their lips together in a desperate kiss, a single tear transferring from his cheek to hers. The shift of energy was almost electric as she felt his arousal press once again into her thigh. Wordlessly he pushed inside her; and the indecipherable mix of pleasure and pain made her gasp aloud.

"This is what you do to me." He whispered in her ear with a soft thrust of his hips. "I want to be a part of you in every way, at every moment. How am I ever again to think of anything but you?"

"You will have to try." Meg told him with a soft giggle. "People will worry if I do not return soon."

Erik groaned into her neck. "Those people be damned. You are mine, and they cannot have you" For a split second, Meg worried that it was not a jest. But with a sigh, Erik pulled out of her and deposited her back on the bed.

Meg smirked as she nestled back into the covers. "I think the _real_ owner of the Opera would disagree with you."

"Is that so..." Erik's voice suddenly trailed off as if lost in thought. In a flash he was up and donning a black satin robe. He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes darting to his mask as if contemplating whether to put it back on. To Meg's relief, he made no move for it.

"I will return shortly." He told her, and rushed out the door without any further explanation. And so she was left there, sitting alone on his bed, feeling quite out of place.

Seconds grew into minutes. Meg began to rustle in the sheets as minutes piled into what felt like hours as she sat unoccupied and unsure in his room. Eventually she grew restless. She climbed off the mattress to go find him.

As soon as Meg stood upright, a flood of moisture crept down the inside of her thighs. She looked down to see them tinted with the blood of her lost virginity. Her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. Quickly as possible, she wrapped his bed sheet around herself like a toga; thanking the heavens that they were black.

Meg shuffled out and then through the expansive hallways, listening for any sound of where Erik had gone. Finally she found him in his music room. He was sitting at a desk with his back to her, scribbling away at something.

"I told you I would return shortly. Did you not believe me?" His hand didn't even pause its movement as he spoke into the paper.

"That was some time ago." Meg approached, curious to see what he was so urgently writing. "What are you doing?"

"What color would you like the new carpet in your room to be?" Erik continued as if she hadn't spoken.

She looked at him with dumbfounded confusion. "What? Why? How could you... you have no way to... How would you get them to-"

Erik cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Choose."

"Erm... red maybe? I don't know. What is this all about?"

He continued scribbling. Meg stepped up to stand over his shoulder just as he folded the piece of paper and tucked it into an envelope. Practiced hands dripped wax on the envelope's flap and embossed it with a blaring skull seal.

Seconds ticked by and he still he did not answer her, even as he hopped up and opened what appeared to be a chute of some sort. He placed the letter inside, closed the hatch, and began pulling on a loop of chain that draped from the ceiling; stopping only when a clank sounded from far above. Her thoughts were alight with curiosity, confusion, worry, irritation and a plethora of other emotions she couldn't quite put a finger on.

"Erik, answer me! What is going on?"

It felt like an eternity before he finally turned towards her. She was relieved to see that there was a tender smile on his face. When he swept forward and picked her up to carry in his arms, it took her by complete surprise.

"Did I worry you?" He asked, placing a kiss on her cheek. "I was simply requesting a few things." It did not escape her attention that he still kept the blemished side of his face turned away.

"From who?" She asked as he took her back down the hallway.

"I had a mind to tell you during the masquerade." He said as he pushed through the door adjacent to his bedroom. "But it seemed like neither the time nor the place."

Meg looked around at her new surroundings to find a cozy bathroom with a very large tub. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched steam rise from within the expansive basin. It had been a very long time since she had been able to enjoy the luxury of a hot bath. As in most places in Paris, it was cold or nothing.

Erik placed her on the floor and began to unwrap the bed sheets. She seized up with embarrassment as the fabric slid past her thighs; doing her best to cover the tinge of blood on them. To her relief he paid no attention, taking her hands to help her into the bath.

She sank into the exquisitely warm water with a blissful sigh, watching as he shed his robe. Her cheeks flushed again as she saw that he too bore the mark of her prior innocence. But he seemed to neither notice or care, and climbed into the tub behind her. His strong legs cradled around as he pulled her to him. Meg laid back against his solid frame.

"What were you going to tell me at the masquerade?" She asked as his hands began to rove over her body; half cleaning and half exploring of their own volition.

"Well..." He started. She could hear the smirk in his voice. "The night of the masquerade, I was parading about as the owner... because I _am_ the owner."

Meg let out an incredulous laugh, splashing water back at him playfully. That wasn't possible. It just wasn't. "Come on, tell me! What was it really?"

She waited for Erik to answer, but he simply locked his arms together beneath her breast, pulling her in tight. The longer she sat waiting for him to speak, the more her mind began to race. "Erik?" She questioned unsuredly.

He chuckled into her hair. "It is a long story. Are you certain you wish to hear it?"

"Of course I do!" She insisted.

He ran his strong hands down her arms and interlaced his fingers with hers.

"When your mother brought me here as a boy, I had no concept of money. I hadn't the slightest idea how much or little a franc could buy. I knew only that people found them important enough to kill for. So I decided to acquire some. I began acting as the Opera Ghost, chose an amount at random, and demanded it as a monthly salary. To a 12 year old boy, twenty thousand francs seemed a reasonable number."

Erik's voice was laced with amusement as he continued. "How was I to know that twenty thousand francs was enough to buy a small estate? The irony is that its very difficult for someone who looks like I do to actually spend money. I learned it aroused far less suspicion to simply take what I wanted instead of buying it. So by the time I fled Paris nearly three decades later, I had accumulated a little under six million francs."

Meg's head was reeling. She wasn't sure if it was from Erik's words, the steam, or both. "Six million..." Her voice trailed off as she attempted to process it all.

Erik continued on, but some of the twinkle had faded out of his voice. "After the fire, I longed for a place that was as different from Paris as possible; some place where the sights and smells wouldn't constantly remind me of... her."

The mention of Christine brought Meg out of her stupor a bit. A twinge of jealousy reared its head. Erik must have sensed it, because he hugged her tighter as he spoke.

"I wanted to leave my old life behind. Tales of Persia had always fascinated me, and before I knew it I was on a boat. Soon I was a stranger in a strange land. The people of this new place seemed to take my mask in stride with my pale skin and light eyes. They regarded it as nothing more than a curious custom of my foreign birth. I found work as an engineer, architect, and even magician as I learned their language. It was the latter of the professions that earned me the attention of the Shah- the Emperor- of Persia. He employed me to do an endless number of odd jobs."

"Like what?" Meg interrupted, glancing back at him. It was obvious by the way his eyes skidded away that he'd hoped she wouldn't ask.

"Some were wonderful things." Erik answered nonchalantly. "He had me re-design his entire palace, sparing no expense."

A storm of emotion suddenly clouded over his features. With a heavy sigh he continued. "Other things the Shah demanded were as terrible as his new palace was magnificent. And those are things that you do not want to hear about."

"I DO want to hear about them." Meg insisted even as worry spread through her stomach.

Erik hesitated before giving her a single, terse nod. "Very well. But please understand that I am a very different person now."

"I understand." She told him, turning in his arms to place her head on his chest.

After a hefty pause, he continued. "It wasn't long before he demanded that I build him an elaborate torture chamber beneath the palace. I had a mind to refuse, but the Shah is not someone you have the option of turning down. Little did I know that he had larger things in store for me. A few months after its completion, I was sent on my first mission to hunt down a political spy. It was far from the last. The Shah's blood-lust far exceeded mine, but there was little I could do without forfeiting my own life along with his victim's. Before I knew it, I became the Shah's personal Angel of Death."

Erik paused again, looking at her with worry as if gauging her reaction; but even Meg wasn't sure how she felt. This new knowledge filled her with a dull fear. But the words were almost unreal to her. It was difficult to imagine the tender hands that wrapped around her now, killing at the whim of another. After searching her eyes for several moments he tentatively continued.

"With that power and prestige came a wealth that made my earnings in Paris look like a pauper's wages. Before long, I was one of the richest and most feared men in all of Persia. But I could not enjoy it. It felt no different than being in the gypsy's cage; only this time it was I that inflicted the pain on others."

Erik seemed lost in reflection, running an absentminded hand down the curve of her hip. "Some part of me thought it would be empowering to act as the hammer instead of the anvil. It wasn't. I quickly learned to deal in secrets; desperate for anything that would free me from the Shah's grasp. After a year or two, my plan backfired. He sentenced me to death for knowing too much."

Meg looked up at him, utterly overwhelmed but desperate to hear more. Thankfully he did not disappoint.

"If it had not been for the Daroga... the head of the Persian police and the man who now sits as manager to our very Opera house... I would have been tortured and eventually died in the prison I myself created. He used his position to fake my suicide, leaving me just enough time to collect my assets and escape back to Europe."

Erik's voice grew quiet with contemplation as he stared off into the past. "To this day, I do not know why he did it. I have never dared to ask."

Meg had a mind to speak; but as she opened her mouth, a thousand thoughts tried to tumble out at the same time. "Butwha... howdidyou... "

With a shake of his head as if to clear away the memory, he continued. "I traveled back to my home continent, glad to be free of the Shah's hold. I toured Europe for a time, still unwilling to return to the shadow of a life I'd left behind. Eventually news reached me that the Paris Opera was to be condemned. No one was willing to risk the investment to re-build it. With everything I had experienced across the ocean, there was a large piece of me that longed for the simplicity of residing in the Opera once again. I finally came back to Paris to visit the ruins, and found none other than the Daroga himself. It seems that shortly after I'd left Persia, his deceit had been discovered and he was exiled for aiding me. Together again in Paris, we hatched a plan to buy and rebuild the Opera."

A bit of the storm returned to Erik's eyes. "Martine Beaudet Senior was more than happy to accept the 19 million riyal I offered him and convert it into francs."

Meg caught the turmoil in his voice. "What does that equate to in francs?" She asked, half in curiosity and half in an attempt to distract him from the unrest of giving money to her attacker's family.

"It came out to somewhere near 44 million francs."

Meg's gasped, looking at him with wide eyes. He held up a cautionary hand. "But I spent most of it rebuilding the Opera house. I have less than 10 million left now."

"Oh, is that all?" She asked with bewilderment.

Erik's grip around her waist tightened. Water splashed everywhere as without warning he spun her around to place her beneath him.

"Do you think you could ever love such a poor man?" He asked with a hint of renewed jest. It took only a moment for Meg's own spunk to surface.

"I think that for love... I could manage."


	18. Parchment and Parcels

Inspector Gaston Leblanc stood in Mademoiselle Giry's disheveled room once again, memorizing the scene. Something about the incident last night filled him with unease. His gut told him there was something wrong.

The manager was most certainly acting strange. When the Inspector had called on him, he'd poked his head out his office door, glancing nervously about as if expecting an attack. Gaston half expected to be refused in his request to take another look at the room; but the manager granted permission before hastily shutting himself back in his office. The sound of a lock clicking into place let Gaston know that their conversation was finished.

The Inspector pulled out a small leather-bound notebook and pencil. He began to hash out several rough sketches of the room from different angles; trying to capture any details that might be of use. He drew in the candlestick, the shape of the bloodstain, the bindings that lay strewn about the room, the position of the bed. He paused as his eyes fell on the shelf beside the door. Approaching it, he stood on tiptoe to view the top side. Every part of it except a perfect circle was coated with dust. A glance back down at the shape of the candlestick's base confirmed that this was where it had been.

Gaston let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead. As doubtful as he was, everything matched up with the young ladies' story. He scribbled the shelf into his drawing before depositing the notebook back in his inner coat pocket. After a final glance around the room, he walked into the hallway; trying to calm the suspicion in his gut.

* * *

Meg truly amazed Erik. As he looked down at her in the now lukewarm water, she still seemed a bit overwhelmed; but there was no trace of fear or disgust from listening to his story. Her gentle hand reached up to caress his chest. It appeared that nothing could phase her for long. Her spirit seemed to be as unsinkable as the ocean itself and as warming as sunlight.

Every part of him ached to be inside her again. But he knew that not only did she need to return to the surface soon, but she was most likely very sore. Instead, he settled for a kiss.

Just as he touched her silken-soft lips, a bell sounded the Persian's reply to his letter. He groaned against her mouth, not wanting to entertain the notion of giving her up quite yet.

With a great deal of reluctance, he climbed out of the tub and wrapped himself in his robe.

"Enjoy the bath at your leisure." Erik told the puzzled-looking Meg. "I have a few things I must attend to."

"Now?" Meg asked, worry spreading across her face. "Will you be gone long?"

The wistful undertone of her words made Erik's urges stir anew. In a flash his arm was back in the bath, the cuff of his robe sinking into the water. His fingers found the searing hot cleft between her thighs, earning him a soft moan that threatened to make him climb back in the basin with her. His other hand came to lay over her heart. He could feel its beating accelerate beneath his palm.

"You could not keep me away if you tried." Erik cooed before stealing another kiss.

With a test of pure willpower, he withdrew his hands. "If you grow tired of the bath, meet me in the music room."

Shirt sleeves dripping all over the floor, Erik darted out before he had a chance to change his mind. He hurried through the hallway and to the chute in his main room. Opening the hatch revealed several parcels, along with a note embossed by the seal of a phoenix. Nimble fingers tore open the wax binding and unfolded the letter.

**'A woman's nightgown? Food for two? Special tea?!**

**Am I to understand that you **

**have fallen back into the habit of kidnapping young ladies?**

**From what you've told me,**

**that did not end well in the past.**

**Do you always choose the women who are currently in the limelight?**

**Not only does that seem an unwise practice, **

**but you have particularly poor timing.**

**The police inspector has come snooping again,**

**and I cannot do anything about it**

**because there is a very angry mother bear**

**clawing at my door with her cane.**

**Madam Giry truly is a terrifying woman.**

**I have currently barricaded myself in my office to avoid her.**

**Please return her daughter soon.**

**I fear there will be permanent damage to my door or my head if you do not.'**

Erik chuckled as he read the Persian's letter. Leave it to Madam Giry to strike more fear into the heart of a man than the Angel of Death.

He headed for the kitchen to prepare the food and heat some water. When he finally returned to the music room, tray in hand, his little blonde cherub was waiting for him on the couch. She wore only a towel and a blush. As Erik sat the tray of food on the table before her, a worrying realization arose.

He hadn't the faintest idea what he looked like when he ate. For all he knew, it could be an appalling sight.

"Thank you! I'm starved." Meg said with an appreciative smile as she picked up several pieces of cheese and sliver of apple. She put it to her perfect lips, but paused before taking a bite. "Aren't you going to join me?"

"I..." Erik opened his mouth to decline but before he had the chance, his stomach let out a growling and unceremonious reply. He sighed in defeat. "...suppose I should."

Pulling his armchair towards the table, he was careful to leave it angled just enough to put half his face concealed in shadow. He chose some cheese and a stem of grapes from the platter and reclined in the seat. As proper and gentlemanly as possible, he began to eat; taking care to break the cheese into small bite-sized pieces.

It took a moment for Erik to realize that Meg had stopped eating and was staring at him. A large chunk of bread sat forgotten in her hand. Flustered, he wiped at his chin to brush away anything that could be stuck to it. When he met her gaze, she looked at him in with dissecting scrutiny.

Erik couldn't have been more surprised when she shoved the entire hunk of bread into her mouth; eyes locked on his. As she closed her lips around it and began to chew, her stuffed cheeks bulged like an adorable golden-haired hamster. The sudden roar of his own laughter startled him. Meg simply grinned around the mouthful and went back to eating.

"Point taken." He mused, finally relaxing into the chair. "Now drink your tea before it gets cold."

With a nod, she took the teacup. Erik could see her nose crinkle in distaste as she took her first sip. For a moment he worried Meg wouldn't drink any more. But she already had another plan, and tried to pawn it off on him.

"You don't have any." She said, offering the cup. "Why don't we share it?"

"No, that's quite alright. But thank you."

"Oh please, I insist."

Erik held up his hand in refusal. "That is yours alone and you need to drink _all_ of it. It will help avoid any residual pain from our rendezvous." He tried his best to convince himself that it wasn't a total lie. After all, giving birth to a monster of a child _would _be painful. Meg eyed the tea dolefully. But with a sigh, she drank it down in several large gulps.

"Good girl." He cooed. "Now finish up. I had best get you back to the surface before your mother kills my manager."

Erik went to retrieve the new nightgown as she finished her meal. He had been tempted to send for something more luxurious than a standard cotton one but knew it could arouse suspicion amongst the other girls.

"You'll most likely need this. Unless you wish to return to the surface in my towel. Although I doubt anyone would complain." He said, placing it in her lap.

She looked at it with raised eyebrows before giving him a beaming smile. "You really do think of everything! Thank you."

Erik's breath caught in his throat as she stood and let the towel fall to the ground. Her flawless ivory skin, the sweeping curve of her tiny waist, her heart-shaped bottom threatened his composure. Mercifully the chemise fell down over her seconds later, hiding her exquisite body from view.

When Meg turned to face him, the smile had faded; replaced by a look of concern.

"What am I going to tell Annette?" She asked, almost to herself. "When the inspector saw through my story, she lied and told him she was the one who struck Martine. She will want to know who really did. What am I supposed to tell her?"

With a little smirk, Erik pulled her into his arms and placed a gentle kiss on her furrowed brow. "Tell her that the owner of the Opera saved you, and that you are madly in love with him."

"I can't tell her that!" Meg gaped.

Erik put his cheek to hers and whispered in her ear. "Then just tell me."

He could feel Meg smile against him. Her voice was more heavenly than an angel's kiss as she whispered back.

"I am truly, madly in love with you."


	19. A Woman Scorned

The dormitories were blissfully empty as Meg crept in to grab a change of clothes. As she snuck down the hallway and tucked into the costume room to change into her dance attire, the sound of chattering girls greeted her. Rehearsal must have ended recently. She was trying to think of a plausible excuse for still being in her nightgown when her thoughts were interrupted by Annette's animated speaking voice.

"Blood started gushing out! He hollered and grabbed at his head as he fell to the floor."

Meg rounded the corner to find Annette sitting surrounded by girls, all fighting to ask her questions at the same time. It seemed that word of her heroism had spread quickly. The room slowly fell silent as they became aware of Meg's presence.

Annette shot up, blushing furiously. "M-meg! We were all wondering where you went!" She stepped forward through the crowd. "How are you doing? N-no one wanted to wake you this morning, but..." Her eyes and voice trailed off anxiously.

Meg let out a sigh; partly from relief that no one had questioned her attire, and partly in frustration that last night's events was already a source of entertainment. But it was absurd to expect a group of women not to gossip; especially when they all lived together.

"It's fine Annette. You can tell the story." She reluctantly conceded. "Just... save it for when I'm not around."

"Of course!" Annette blurted. "Whatever you want!"

"Perhaps we should _speak _first." Meg suggested pointedly. "There are some more intimate details I would like kept private." She looked around the room at all the curious faces before addressing the crowd. "Would you ladies mind leaving us? I will send Annette into the dormitories to finish her story in a short while."

There were several groans and grumbles, but when Meg offered no compromise, they begrudgingly filed out of the room. When the last girl had left the room, Meg turned to a nearly terrified-looking Annette.

"Don't worry." She soothed. "You aren't in trouble." Annette breathed a visible sigh of relief as Meg continued. "I just want to make sure that our stories match up."

Meg recited back the words that Erik had spoken to her less than an hour before. "The best lie is sandwiched between two truths. Now lets get our story straight."

With a nod, Annette worked through her version of the event. Meg made a number of small corrections until it fit as closely to the truth as possible. Once they were finished, she had Annette repeat the revised story again until she was satisfied.

"That's perfect." Meg assured her, laying a tentative hand on her shoulder. "And... thank you for covering for me."

Annette's cheeks reddened again. "I couldn't just sit there and do nothing. But... Meg?"

This was the moment Meg had feared. She could only hope that her own lie, sandwiched between two truths, would be enough.

"What really happened? How _did_ you escape? Who saved you in earnest?"

More for show than genuine concern, Meg glanced around the room to make sure they were alone. She leaned in to secret the answer on a soft breath. "The owner of the Opera."

Annette gasped, but Meg pressed a finger to her lips. She did her best to recall the brilliant logic Erik had come up with. "When the owner asked me to dance at the masquerade, I wasn't the slightest bit interested. But as we moved together across the floor, the connection was electric. It felt like I had known him for months. Against all better judgement, I agreed to meet him in private. When I ran out so abruptly, he must have followed behind. It is all sort of a blur."

Meg shook her head as if clearing away thoughts. "The next thing I knew he was untying me. Monsieur Soroush told me that people had been looking for any excuse to turn against him because of his dark skin and foreign birth. He asked that I keep his involvement a secret. He said that the scandal could shut down the entire opera!"

Meg hid her face within her hands in feigned dismay; a twinge of guilt coursing through her stomach. "It seemed quite a modest request at the time! How could I refuse such a simple favor for the man who had saved me? A man who had stolen my heart within minutes!"

Annette was quick to wrap her arms around Meg's shoulders. "Please don't fret!" She comforted. "I completely understand! I don't think I would have done any different."

"Thank you, Annette." The guilt mounted, but Meg knew it was for the best. "Thank you for understanding."

Looking up, Meg grasped Annette's arms firmly. "But you mustn't tell anyone! Not a soul! If you do, both of our troubles will be for nothing."

"I promise, I will never speak a word of it!" Annette swore. Slowly a wry smile crossed her lips as her gossiping nature took hold. "Do you really feel so strongly about a man you just met? It isn't just his wealth that sways you? Because I would understand if it was."

Meg was surprised to find herself genuinely blushing.

"No!" She answered sincerely. "That night, he lifted his golden mask to me. When I looked into his face, it was like beholding a hidden piece of my heart for the very first time." She grinned and let out an embarrassed giggle. Annette pulled Meg's hands into hers, giving her a warm smile. It felt really nice to have someone to talk to about Erik; even if it was under false pretenses.

"Oh Anne, you are a wonderful friend. I'm so glad-"

"You seem in unnaturally good spirits."

Meg's sentence was cut short by a voice that made her blood turn to ice. She looked up to see Madam Giry rounding the bend. It was clear by the look on her face that she was very, very angry

Meg stammered. "I-I was just-" The familiar rap of a cane interrupted.

"Get dressed." Madam Giry ordered tersely. 'Your new training begins today. I expect to see you on stage in five minutes." Without another word, she swiveled on her heels and marched back out.

Annette shot Meg a sympathetic look before taking her leave as well. Meg reluctantly donned her dancing attire and hurried to meet her mother. When she opened the door, she was waiting on stage above the orchestra pit.

"Stretch quickly." She growled, a rigid finger shooting out like an arrow to point at the floor. Meg wasn't used to warming up in front of the curtain, but knew better than to not obey. She began running through the stretches as her mother barked at her.

"Your first debut as lead will be in the next season's Opera. That gives us very little time to choreograph your performances. And after this much spotlight has been cast on you, it had better be _awe-inspiring_." The last words seeped out in a hiss.

Meg had never choreographed anything before. The thought sent a wave of unease rolling through her stomach. "But I've never even-"

"How many times have I told you that you cannot breath correctly while you are talking? And you cannot dance correctly if you are not breathing!" Madam Giry snapped. "Now up! We will be showcasing a new Opera called Carmen. The second act calls for a spectacular ballet number. That is where our concentration must lie."

Meg tentatively rose to her feet as Madam Giry made an abrupt signal for the pianist to begin. The music started, echoing with daunting clarity over the empty seats. It was a song Meg had never heard before. She hadn't the faintest idea what the play was even about, let alone what was happening in the second act. All Meg could do was stand glued to the floor in a stupor; completely at a loss for how to begin such an overwhelming task.

Several awkward minutes passed as Meg stood frozen at center-stage; Madam Giry all the while pacing around her. Finally she heard her mother give a weighty sigh. The music stopped.

"Look at the mess you've gotten yourself into." Her voice was heavy with emotion. "A promotion you were _clearly_ not ready for... the scandal with that young man... your name all over the papers... and now the attention of the police as well!"

Madam Giry began to shout. "You'd had the spotlight for less than a day and managed to dig yourself a hole bigger than you can climb out of! And then you just run off to God-knows-where without a word as to where you'd gone! This is precisely the reason I did NOT want to give you the lead position!"

Meg turned to look at her incredulously. "You didn't want to give me the lead... because you thought I would be noticed by an art critic, promoted, attacked, saved by one of the girls, inadvertently cause the demise of a wealthy banker, and then disappear while being investigated for murder?! That _specifically _is what you feared?"

"I feared that you could not handle the responsibility!" Madam Giry countered. "And I was right!"

Guilt began to creep back into Meg's heart. The last thing she wanted to do at that moment was argue. "I'm sorry for running away this morning." She quietly implored. "After I woke up, the reality of what almost happened hit me hard. I just needed some time to feel... safe again. I did not mean for any of those things to happen, and I am sorry to have caused so much trouble. Please... as my mother... tell me what I should have done differently."

For once, the stern woman seemed to be speechless. Her mouth gaped wordlessly. It felt like an eternity before anything in the threatre moved. Even the pianist sat bone still in the tense silence.

Madam Giry's cane was the first thing to disturb the stagnant air. It wavered and then capsized; silver handle hitting the floor with a thundering clank. Meg was taken aback as her mother ran forward and drew her into a possessive embrace. "Forget everything I said. Forget it all."

Meg was startled as her head was pulled against Antoinette Giry's chest. "When I could not find you, I was out of my mind with worry. It may not seem like it at times, but if anything ever happened to you I would never forgive myself."

Meg relaxed a bit, tentatively wrapping her hands around her mother's waist as Antoinette continued to speak. "When word finally came that you had returned, I rushed over to find you giggling like a schoolgirl with Annette! I was so angry, I was beside myself."

"She was just trying to lift my spirits." Meg insisted, hoping that her mother hadn't overheard too much of their conversation.

"I hoped you might have come to me for comfort."

Meg wasn't sure what to say. It was touching to know that her mother cared, but it was hardly something she was used to. "I will... remember that for next time."

Her mother let out half of a laugh. "Dear Heavens, I should hope there will never be a next time!" She said, issuing a final squeeze before pulling Meg back to look into her eyes. "Now tell me, are you alright? I pray he did not manage to tarnish you, but even if he did, we will take care of it. I can order you some special tea that will assure there are no..." Her eyes flitted momentarily to Meg's stomach. "...undesirable consequences."

Mental gears began to turn. Meg continued to stare at her mother, but all she could see was Erik ordering her to down the contents of that china teacup. The scene replayed itself over and over, as if she were viewing it through a zoetrope. A quiet rage began to swell in her chest.

"... you well?" Her mother's voice slipped back into her head, returning her to reality.

"What?" Meg asked, a hand thoughtlessly moving to lay on her abdomen.

"I asked if you are well, child! Your mind looked to be a hundred miles away!"

"I'm fine... I suppose." Meg said, doing her best to shake the ghost of an image from her thoughts. "Martine did not get that far. But I'm feeling rather ill just now. I would like to lie down."

Antoinette looked at her with a sad smile and ran a tender hand over her hair. "Perhaps you can afford _one_ evening of rest."

Meg did not argue as her mother took her arm and gingerly led her off stage.


	20. Retribution Gone Awry

**Thank you very much for the kind reviews! They were a huge encouragement; and so I offer you some yummy tidbits in appreciation.**

**Warning: This chapter contains more rough, unbridled sexiness. If you offend easily by such things... **

** turn away around the paragraph where their tongues intermingle, **

**and know that they live happily ever after for a time.  
**

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Erik watched from the rooftop as a fourth day without his dancing angel sank into the horizon. His fingers brushed absentmindedly over the petals of a rose he'd painstakingly dyed to match the hue of Meg's aqua eyes. He'd planned to give it to her when she visited next, but that time had yet to come. Erik knew that the Opera would be keeping Meg very busy. Nonetheless, he'd at least expected to hear from her when she'd been given her newly redecorated room.

Yet no word had arrived. That night when he'd finally checked on her, she'd been fast asleep on the bed. She hadn't even bothered to change out of her costume. Erik had attributed her lack of attention to be from sheer exhaustion. But now two days later, he was not so certain.

Worry beaded like vinegar atop a slick of oily irritation. Was she bored of him already? After everything they had gone through, could she truly just cast him aside? The way she spoke to him... the way one look from her could make him feel so utterly complete; surely those things were genuine.

_Weren't they?_

Erik shook his head and tried not to fixate on the notion. There was the more pressing issue of the upcoming opera to worry about. This afternoon he'd watched in the shadows as Meg and her mother tried to choreograph the dances. The pair had made very little headway in four days of near constant practice. Their styles were too different.

As Erik sat on his stone perch, he watched patrons begin to flow out the doors of his opera house. The show had ended, and Erik had made up his mind. This had gone on long enough. He swooped down from his post and made his way to Meg's room.

When he finally came to look through the one-way mirror, the room was empty. For a moment he thought about returning later. Erik was just turning on his heel when Meg's soft laughter drifted from the hallway. Moments later, the door opened to reveal her stepping through a small crowd of eager men..

"You are all very kind, but I assure you I need no protection." Erik heard her say, followed by the excited chattering of her gentleman callers. The boldest of the men pushed in front of the others and took Meg's hand.

"Please Mademoiselle, may I have a kiss to remember you by?" The wolfish stranger implored. Erik mentally pleaded with her to say 'no'. White-hot jealousy seared through his veins as she brought the man's undeserving hand to her celestial lips.

The kiss lasted but a few seconds, though to Erik is seemed to linger for an eternity. Eventually he watched her give a final curtsey before ducking into the room and shutting the door. Erik stayed hidden a moment longer, trying to shove down his anger. Slowly it began to abate as Meg sat at her vanity and started to brush her hair.

Soundlessly he stepped through the secret entrance and swept up behind her. As their eyes met in the mirror of her vanity, she tensed.

Erik reached around to set the aqua rose on the counter, leaning in to whisper in her ear. "An impossible rose to compliment your impossible beauty."

Meg's eyes widened as she looked at it; but it took less than an instant before her expression grew cold. She turned a cheek to both him and his gift.

"I do not want your impossible rose."

Her words sliced at his heart. "And why not?" Erik asked, straightening up and trying to harden his emotions against her response.

"It has too many thorns." Meg answered with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders.

Erik's preparation was entirely unsuccessful. Her lukewarm indifference cut deeper than any name she could have called him. Anger and jealously returned with a vengeance. Without a thought he grabbed her wrist and yanked her upright.

"What are you doing?!" She yelped as he dragged her through the passageway beyond the mirror and shut it behind them.

"You wish to cast my affections aside?" Erik growled as he pulled her deeper. "FINE! But I will not let your performance suffer for it! We practice NOW!"

"NO!" Meg shouted, digging in her heels to fight against him. "I will not go with you! I do not wish to practice now!"

"Of course you don't!" Erik bellowed. "You are too busy basking in the affections of other men!" A fresh wave of jealousy coursed through him at hearing his own words. In an instant he rounded on Meg, pushing her back against the damp wall of the tunnel. Their noses were nearly touching as he hissed. "I was not lying when I said that you belong to ME!"

Meg's eyes narrowed as she met his glare without an ounce of fear. "How would I know?" She spat with pure venom. "You are such a good liar."

Erik hesitated. His mind raced to sort out the context of the situation. Relief descended like a warm blanket as he realized that Meg wasn't bored with him. She wasn't tossing him aside. She was simply angry. Very angry, by the looks of it; but anger is an emotion reserved for things we care about. And as long as she still cared, he could live.

"Special tea?" Meg growled with a hefty shove against his chest, startling him out of his thoughts. "Special tea?! How could you?! How could you take such liberties with _my_ body and not tell me?!"

Erik watched in shock as the look of anger on her face began to change. Her delicate features scrunched up as tears mounted in her eyes. "I trusted you!" She cried, striking him in the chest a second time. He did not stop her. "I trusted you, and you lied to me... just like he did."

Despite another torrent of blows, Erik wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly to his chest. Meg erupted into sobs and fought against his embrace, but he did not relent. He held her firm until finally she began to calm.

"I'm sorry." He whispered into her hair. "I'm so very sorry. I did not mean to hurt you."

"But why?" She murmured against his breast. "Why did you lie to me?"

He let out a lofty sigh before giving her the honest truth. "I wanted that day to be perfect for you. After all that you had been through at the hands of men, I didn't want to add something else for you to worry about."

To his relief, Meg did not pull away. Instead, she looked up at him with wet eyes. "Do you think I would not want to bear your child?"

The thought of a beautiful baby of hers being tainted with his affliction was nearly unbearable. Erik did his best to skirt the uncomfortable issue. "I think it should be a matter of carefully weighed decision... not one that happens by accident. A child would cost you every endeavor you currently have. Is that what you want at this moment?"

Slowly she shook her head. "No."

Erik hugged her to his chest with renewed fervor. It amazed him that this tiny girl could stare down a man who had caused so much bloodshed without a hint of fear. As always, she seemed to see beyond the monster. The thought of losing her was terrifying.

"Oh Meg, I think I would lose my mind if you left. I'm sorry that I was so rough with you. Can you love me still?"

Meg pulled away to search his eyes as if she might find her words within them. Agonizing moments of uncertainty passed before she finally spoke.

"The strength of your emotions does not frighten me." She said with a soft smile. "Your passion is what draws me to you like a moth to a flame."

Erik cupped a hand around her cheek; desperate to feel her soft skin against his. "But how is it that you alone see the man behind the monster?" He asked.

Meg held his gaze and spoke a bewildering insight, well beyond her years.

"_All_ of us leave a piece of ourselves hidden in shadow. It is the part that we hope the world will never see."

She paused, running a loving hand over his mask before letting it fall to rest over his heart. "Those wicked, hidden needs can birth amazing creativity... or terrible destruction. And the more we try to hide that darkness, the more violently it tries to escape. I love you because you do not try and quell that twilight. Instead, you embrace it."

Meg fastened her eyes to his as she continued. "It is only when you hide it from me that I become truly afraid; because no matter what, it will seep out in some form or another. That is where the true destruction lies. Martine tried to disguise his nature, and it nearly destroyed me. I never want to be so blind-sighted again. Especially not by you."

Erik stood and looked at her dumbfounded. He had no words. None at all. It was as though she had peered into his soul and picked out every insecurity he'd ever had and then wrapped them in her warm embrace. In the end, all he could think to do was lift her into his arms and carry her towards his home...

_Their_ home.

"I love you." He breathed as they stepped over the threshold. "I love you so much my heart cannot bear it."

Meg answered him with a wanton kiss, leaving him unable to protest as she stole his mask. A sudden, high-pitched clash echoed through the room. Erik looked to see his porcelain face laying in two pieces on the ground.

Somehow he could not bring himself to care.

Meg's eyes widened as she saw it. "I'm s-sorr-"

"I have more." He panted before seizing her lips again.

Their tongues danced as he set her on her feet. Immediately he felt her dainty fingers begin fumbling with the buttons at his waistline. As her palm brushed over his arousal, Erik groaned and broke their kiss.

"We should be practicing." The words came out a husky breath. "There's no time for this." But even as he spoke, his hand reached up to capture her covered breast. Meg's back arched in response, exposing the flawless skin of her neck and sending his desire sky-high. His fingers wrapped around her slender throat and pulled it to his waiting mouth.

"You're probably right" She whispered to him as he hungrily tasted her soft flesh. Her fingers continued to undo the last buttons of his trousers. His firm shaft sprung free as its covering fell around his ankles.

"Carmen is a very erotically charged character." He growled against her neck before reaching down to feverishly yank down her leggings. "Unfulfilled sexual tension would aid the choreography immensely."

"I think Carmen is more of a woman who gets whatever she wants." Meg insisted, hastily helping to rid herself of the bindings. Erik left her hardly enough time to step away from the pile of clothes before picking her up by the waist. She wrapped her legs around his hips, positioning him at her entrance.

The pair let out a simultaneous cry of ecstasy and relief as without hesitation he pulled her down on to his waiting member.

"As you wish." Erik grunted before moving to pin her against the nearest wall. She landed with a hard thud, and for an instant Erik worried he had hurt her. To his delight, she let out a soft moan and crushed her lips to his.

He wasted not a moment before starting to drive into her with ruthless force. All thoughts but the feel of her heavenly, fiery sex melted away. Meg cradled his shoulders, using them to get better leverage while she brazenly rode his hips. Her heart beat like a hummingbird against his chest as he took her without remorse.

"Oh God, Erik! Don't stop!" She cried, arms tightening like a vice around his back.

He had no intentions of stopping. As he ground his hips into hers, her back arched off the wall, forcing his manhood in to the hilt. Meg cried out again as she came, her velvety canal contracting around him.

She started to gasp for breath as he plundered her tightening passage, desperate for his own release. Erik's eyes shut tight as it began to build in the pit of his stomach. With a gravelly moan and one final thrust, he filled her with the seed of his desire.

Erik leaned his forehead against hers as the wave of ecstasy slowly receded. For several blissful minutes the two remained locked together, breathless and spent. When he finally looked into her face, she was smiling. Her cheeks were rosy with exertion. Erik grinned back at her; and in that moment of perfect, shared happiness, they both began to laugh.

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**They are such a huge encouragement to write faster!**

**Really, they truly make my day and kick my butt into gear.**

**~Lady Meda**


	21. An Unfortunate Epiphone

"Hurry, child. We mustn't waste another minute." Meg heard her mother call as she followed the woman onto an otherwise quiet stage. "At the rate we have been going, you will not have all of the dances choreographed before the new opera's opening night. You and I have yet to finish a single act, and that is unacceptable."

As Madam Giry took her usual place near the orchestra pit, Meg could not help but smile down at her slippers. After last night's inspiring carnal rendezvous, she and Erik had diligently worked over the second act. It was completely finished, and Meg was very confident in the final product. Erik had an amazing ability to bring out her passion and personal sense of style. She suddenly wondered what it had been like all those years ago, when Erik had helped her mother train.

"Let us begin with no more delay!" Antoinette Giry ordered, lifting a readying hand towards the pianist and fixing her eyes towards Meg. "We were about halfway through- What are you grinning at?! This is hardly a humorous matter!"

Meg's smirk widened. "Actually... I think I have this dance worked out."

Her mother looked at her incredulously. "Don't be ridiculous." She hissed. "Now take position! We have no more time to waste!"

"No, truly!" Meg insisted. "It came to me last night in a dream."

Madam Giry let out an audible scoff. "More nonsense! And may I add that your confidence in such silliness is far from comforting."

Undaunted, Meg lifted her chin and stood her ground. Her mother paused, clearly unconvinced.

"Well if you are so sure of yourself, then you should have no problem showing me!"

"None at all." Meg said with a curtsy before moving to center stage. "I hope you do not mind, but I altered some of what we already created."

For several moments the stern woman looked as though she might speak, but instead moved a hand to signal the pianist to begin. To Meg's surprise, the man glanced at her for approval. She answered it by striking her beginning pose.

Meg's eyes slid shut as the seductive melody began. She let the world drop away, and imagined that she was dancing for Erik's pleasure, and his alone. Without hesitation, her heart answered the call. It spoke of an overwhelming desire to enchant and entice his affections. Her feet began to move as if of their own accord.

As she simmered gracefully about the stage, the song's longing flowed and shifted through her body like light through a tinted pane of glass. The nuances of the writing rang true with every movement, and yet intertwined with the very essence of who she was.

When the final notes of its climax sounded, Meg took to the air in a double pirouette that exploded into a grand jeté; all before her feet met the ground again. Such a stunt had never been tried, and its perfect execution sent a nearly electric thrill coursing through her limbs.

Meg landed in a proud and unapologetic pose as the final notes of Carmen's song relented to the silence. When her eyes opened to look around the room, the tension in the space was palpable. Madam Giry stared at her, mouth agape. Meg could not help but blush.

"Do you find my choreography acceptable?" Meg asked as she stood winded. Her mother continued to stare in bewilderment before ushering the pianist to leave. The man gawked at the two women for a moment, then stumbled to his feet and shuffled out of the auditorium.

"That was... incredible." The Madam breathed. "And it came to you in a dream?"

"Yes." Meg answered. "I fell asleep reading the script, and it all sort of... flowed together."

"I can hardly believe it." Her mother exhaled. "Remarkable. Simply remarkable." A rare smirk crept across her lips. "If that is all it takes, I have half a mind to slip a sedative in your morning porridge!"

"Are you really so surprised?" Meg asked with a wry grin. "I _am_ the daughter of a prima ballerina after all."

A hint of rose graced her mother's cheeks as she let out a lighthearted chuckle. "Yes, but I had-"

She stopped suddenly, eyes glassing over as if lost in a distant memory. Her smile faded. "I had... help." The last word tumbled out in a whisper as every ounce of color drained from the woman's face.

A thousand shards of glass coursed into Meg's limbs as she realized with horror that her secret had been discovered. Her eyes locked with her mother's, almost unseeing as they shared a juxtaposing moment of epiphany.

In less than an instant, Madam Giry was on the move; transformed into a whirl of black cloth. She darted offstage with startling agility, disappearing behind the giant theater curtain.

Meg's breath caught in her throat. She knew precisely where her mother was headed. Hastily making chase, she flew behind the curtain; but Antoinette was no where to be found. Her mother was privy to a good deal of Erik's secret passages, and Meg knew of only two. Throwing curses to the wind, she ran for the one in her room.

It felt like a lifetime before her feet found the damp stone of the tunnel. She sprinted towards Erik's home as swiftly as her tired legs would carry her. Meg prayed that either she would reach him first or that he had closed off the false rock face; but he rarely did so these days. Thankfully, he'd agreed to take down the noose-trap that had nearly killed her on their first meeting. Being hanged would not put her mother in a better mood.

Meg rounded the last bend and was met with a dismaying sight. The light of a candelabra sliced through the darkness, forging a direct path towards the open rock wall. Her lungs burned with exertion as she bolted forward to close the final gap.

"Back so soon?" She heard Erik say from inside. "You are truly insatiabl-Antoinette."

Meg ran into the music room at last, wheezing for breath. Erik gradually rose from his piano bench, stealing a glance at her before looking back to her mother. Madam Giry stormed forward until she stood glaring up at him.

A thundering smack reverberated through the room, followed by a crash as she slapped him hard enough to send his mask shattering to the floor.

Erik's lips pulled back in a snarl as he slowly recoiled. "Those aren't exactly _cheap_!" He spat.

Madam Giry began to shout. "Strike me down! Hang me! Kill me if you must! I don't care! But stay away from my daughter!"

Meg ran between them and grabbed her mother's arm. "Maman, no! You do not understand!"

Madam Giry shot a glare at her child; eyes burning like pools of liquid fire.

To Meg's relief, Erik was quick to regain his composure. A hand worked to smooth his tousled hair as he lifted his chin high. She was surprised to see he made no attempt to hide his face. "It is good to see you too, Antoinette."

In an instant, Madam Giry rounded on Erik once again. "I did not procure you safe passage overseas four years ago so that you could return and make the same mistakes! And this time you choose my daughter to manipulate?!" Her body shook with rage. "You WILL stay away! If you _ever_ come near her again, I will have you arrested!"

Without another word, Madam Giry seized Meg's arm and began to drag her out of the room. Meg tore from her grasp and ran to stand beside Erik.

"Mother, please listen! I am the one who sought _him_ out. Not vice-versa."

Her mother turned to look at her with disbelief. "What? Why would you do that?"

Meg wracked her brain for the best way to explain. "It was an accident, really." She stammered before issuing a dismissive wave of her hand. "But the details are unimportant, and I can tell you about them later. The point is that I owe my success to him, along with my well-being. It was Erik who saved me from Martine. And he has never been anything but kind, loving, supportive and generous."

Madam Giry took a tentative step towards them, her voice falling to a whisper as if Erik would not be able to hear. "He is a dangerous man, cheri. You know from experience that if you try and leave, all his kind support will vanish, and you will see nothing but rage."

For a moment Meg considered lying about the extent of their relationship, but quickly thought better of it. Instead, she looked up at Erik with a warm smile and took his hand in hers. "I have no intentions of leaving, because ... I... I..." Meg hesitated. The words were somehow much harder to say under the scrutinizing eyes of her mother. Erik seemed to sense her discomfort, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. That secret show of affection provided Meg the courage to continue.

"Because I love him."

For a second time that day, Madam Giry stood staring at Meg with her mouth agape. "How... you can't possibly... he..."

"I can and I do." Meg cut in. "If you would only give him a chance, you will see that he has changed."

As the older woman slowly recomposed herself, she looked skeptically to Erik. "And what of you?"

Erik ran gentle fingers over Meg's hair before pulling away to address her mother. "Please believe me when I say that the man who stands before you now, is a far different person than the one who left four years ago. That is almost entirely due to the love I feel for your daughter." He glanced back to look at Meg, before returning his gaze to Madam Giry. "Her happiness is more valuable to me than anything in the world. I would end my life if I knew it would make her smile."

As Erik's words sank in, it took every ounce of self restraint for Meg not to step forward and wrap her hands around his waist. She resisted, watching as for several long, unsure moments Antoinette seemed to search his eyes with determined scrutiny.

Finally her mother let out a hefty sigh. She tightened her lips and poked a sturdy finger into his sternum. "If you so much as rub her feet too hard, I swear by the heavens that somehow I will make you pay. _Dearly_."

Erik took the hand that had struck him into his own. "Then as a show of truce, I will provide you with the metaphorical dagger that would best pierce my heart." He said quietly. "All you need do is deny me her love."

Madam Giry looked speechless. As Meg finally gave in to her desires and moved to tuck herself within Erik's grasp, her mother's exacting gaze flitted between them.

"Fine." She finally said with a curt nod. "Then perhaps I should leave you two alone."

When Erik interjected, surprise was evident on her mother's face. "No. I think you two should go together. Odds are you have a great deal of catching up to do, and the last thing I want is to come between you."

Meg glanced up at him worriedly, fearing that he might be upset. He offered her a comforting smile and a kiss to the forehead before pushing her gently towards her mother. Antoinette opened her mouth, shut it again, then intertwined her arm with Meg's. After one final look at Erik, she led Meg away.

"He really _has_ changed, hasn't he?" Madam Giry whispered once they had walked far enough towards the surface to be out of earshot. "In days past, if my palm had ever managed to reach his cheek, I would have been dead before his mask hit the ground."

"Yes." Meg answered with a grin; all too happy to break down the barricade of secrets separating them. "Yes he has."

* * *

**If you are enjoying the story so far, pretty please leave a review!**

**They are such a huge encouragement to write faster!**

**Really, they truly make my day and kick my butt into gear.**

**~Lady Meda**


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